


Halcyon Days

by bolby



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adding more tags as the story progresses, Alternate Universe - Medieval, M/M, and lance runs into things without thinking, classic keith, classic lance, keith isn't a people person yet he chose a profession involving people, knight!keith, prince!lance, the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-07-24 08:01:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7500435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bolby/pseuds/bolby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Lance, you were born for something greater than a life spent in Balmera.”</p><p>Lance leaned back on his palms, sighing forlornly. “Tell me about it, abuelita, we all know I was born for royalty.”</p><p>“You’d be surprised how accurate that is, hijo.”</p><p>--</p><p>Lance might be royalty. Keith might be escorting the future king back to the kingdom. It's possible that neither of them are entirely aware of these facts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> prince au! im havin a lot of fun writing this so the next chapter will be up pretty soon. enjoy & lemme know what y'all think!

_Block. Block. Parry. Block. Block. Parry._

Three years after receiving his knighthood, this had become Keith’s mantra. He'd always been proficient with a blade, so much so that he'd been labelled prodigal. His skill came with an ease that generally incited one of two things; awe or anger. Keith was more familiar with the latter. He also wasn't as apt with words as he was with a blade, which inevitably led to conflict. Keith recognized that. He recognized it, but he simply couldn't change it. It was just... who he was. He'd long accepted that he and other people simply wouldn't get along. That had become a fact of life. 

Consequently, Keith also became accustomed to commonly occurring events such as his fellow knights challenging him to a duel. It was common amongst the recruits, where emotion blazed erratically and pride ruled many actions, but the only duels held at the level of a knight were his own against his compatriots. Keith didn't necessarily mind, however; it proved as extra training. 

One knight in particular, Rax, kept a watchful eye on Keith whenever he entered the training yard. He had observed Keith's skill in combat since Keith's arrival at the barracks, and finally stepped forward to challenge him. Keith accepted, as he always did, seeing the challenge as an opportunity to test his mettle against a variety of opponents. They circled each other, tension palpable, and when Rax sliced forward, sword extended, Keith deflected. They parried back and forth, Rax managing to cut a couple of strands of Keith's hair clear off at some point, and when Rax swept forward with what was intended to be a finishing strike, Keith slid forward on his knees, gliding underneath the blade. He jumped to his feet and used the pommel to deliver a blow to Rax's back. Rax fell to his knees, gasping, eyes wide, mouth agape. Keith didn't know much about Rax, only that he'd come from a small village to the north. He was a good soldier; Keith didn't want to see him shamed, face downturned to the dirt. 

Keith circled around, extending a hand. He'd never mistreated anyone he dueled; to him, it simply wasn't right. He knew others who might disagree, but, of the few things Keith did believe in, he put a great amount of merit into living honorably. Rax half-heartedly nudged away Keith's hand, standing on his own and retrieving his fallen blade. "Lucky." He grumbled over his shoulder, shuffling back towards the medic's quarters. 

"Making friends again, I see?" 

Keith turned towards Shiro, who approached with a playful smile. "He challenged me." 

"I don't doubt it," Shiro nodded. Shiro was Keith's only friend in the barracks, but Keith didn't mind. Shiro had always been the greatest friend Keith had known. Nobody had ever stood up for him before Shiro. Nobody had ever really cared enough to. Shiro always had. "I didn't come about that, though. I need to speak with you." 

"Alright. What's on your mind?" 

Shiro glanced around them. It was noon, so most of the soldiers had left to the kitchens. Today's meal was some kind of herbal soup; the chef's soups were a hit amongst the soldiers. "Not here, though. Come to my quarters at dusk, we can speak there." 

Keith cast a glance around, himself, confused. Rather than questioning Shiro's motives, he nodded. "Alright." 

"I've got to go and speak with the quartermaster," Shiro patted Keith's shoulder, "but before I go, you should know that you favor your right arm." He dodged out of the way as Keith threw a light punch his direction, guffawing. 

When the sun settled onto the plains, casting an gentle glow on the city of Earth, Keith set out through the castle to Shiro's quarters. The castle was nothing short of a labyrinth. The soldiers and servants often referred to it as the Warren, half due to the fact that it was truly a maze of corridors and (unsurprisingly yet interestingly) housed a number of hidden entrances and half to the often... illicit activities that took place inside the castle walls. The Warren was home to the High King, the most powerful individual in the entire kingdom, and certainly reflected the prestige that came with its houseguests. The castle towered above the city, back to the mountain range labelled the Devil's Hand due to it's striking resemblance to claws breaking through the ground and front facing the vast expanse of flatlands, which provided Keith's favorite sunsets in the entire kingdom. He'd travelled all around the lands, seen a great many sunsets, but none were quite as peaceful as those viewed from the Warren. 

Keith approached Shiro's quarters, and only had to knock once for Shiro to open the door and usher him inside. He sat on the couch in front of the fire, waiting impatiently as Shiro collected a couple of drinks and sat down next to him. It'd been a long while since Keith had been sent on a mission outside of the walls of the city. He was practically itching to mount his red roan and go. 

"I..." Shiro began, searching for the words, "was spoken to by his Majesty directly, and asked to select a knight to send on a mission of the utmost secrecy, to a small village far from Earth. His Majesty implored me to find someone capable, someone I could trust, and someone who wouldn't breathe a word of all of this to anybody before the assignment is completely closed." Shiro glanced over at Keith, eyes open and trusting. "I'd like that person to be you." 

Keith was quiet for a moment. Shiro never failed to remind Keith exactly how important their friendship was, and Keith appreciated him more than he realized for that. "What exactly _is_ this mission, Shiro?" 

"His Majesty asked me to locate somebody a month ago, a boy with the scar of a burn on his palm in the shape of the royal family crest. It took me a while to find a decent lead, but I've found one of some worth, and when I brought it to him, he asked me to select somebody to go and look for the boy, and retrieve him." 

"What does the High King want with some kid?" Keith asked suspiciously. Shiro sighed, shaking his head. 

"I'm not sure. I tried to ask, but he was... closed off. But I trust him. If he says the boy is important to the kingdom, then I believe we need to find him." 

Keith watched Shiro with steady eyes for a moment, considering. "Alright. What do I have to do?" 

Shiro grinned. "Thank you, Keith. I knew I could count on you." He shifted around in his pocket for a slip of paper, and handed it over to Keith. "That's from the King. It details exactly what the objectives are and how they're to be seen through. Nobody but you and I are to get a hold of that, Keith." 

"I get it," Keith unfolded the missive, scanning over its contents, and glanced up at Shiro in disbelief. "You can't be serious. 'Escort the boy back to Earth from the village of Balmera, _unharmed_ and _willing_ '? How, exactly, am _I_ going to do that?" Keith could rarely convince the other knights in the barracks that he wasn't looking for a fight. How could he convince some stranger to travel across the kingdom with him? 

"I know this will be difficult," Shiro placed a hand on Keith's shoulder, expression serious. "But it needs to be done, and I believe you're the man to do it. Please, Keith." 

Keith frowned, and glanced down at the letter. He hadn't gone outside the city walls in what felt like ages--a few months, at least. He'd be lying if he said the duels hadn't gotten old, and, at this point in his life, there was one person Keith cared about in the world, and that was Shiro. Shiro was his closest friend, and just as Shiro would entrust him with everything, Keith would do the same. Shiro had never let Keith down before, how could Keith possibly think of doing so at all?

"Alright. When do I leave?" 

* * *

There was no sight as beautiful, no seductress as tempting, no steaming meal quite as appetizing, as Lake Alfor once the air begun to cool and the leaves begun to change. It was gorgeous year-round, really, and if you asked Lance, it was the most beautiful place in the entire kingdom. The lake's glimmer was stardust, fallen from above, and the temperature was never anything but just right. Lance had spent thirteen years diving to the depths of the lake, yet he wasn't foolish enough to believe he'd uncovered even half of the lake's treasures. He'd found gems of all different colors; green like the leaves in the spring and white like the powdery snow which fell in the winter. His favorite, however, were the red ones. He collected them, even. They were all sorts of reds--the color of the fire lit in the inn in town, the color of the rug in his abuela's room, the color of his hands after he and Hunk would crack open a pomegranate and eat the seeds straight from the fruit... he had every red imaginable.

The lake was full of wonders such as the gems. Lance had even found a small jewelry box, once, filled to the brim with pearls and emeralds which he had given to his aunts and cousins. The lake's name--Alfor--had come from the King of the city of Altea, a coastal city southeast of Balmera. King Alfor had been the second most influential man in the kingdom, just beneath the High King of the city of Earth. King Alfor had fallen ill during the height of summer, and was eventually overwhelmed by the heat of the sun and the sickness. His daughter, Princess Allura, floated his casket out to sea, open-faced and filled to the brim with the pink and white blossoms indigenous to the region around Altea. Lance had never been to Altea, but he imagined it was absolutely beautiful. There were many places in the kingdom that, from the word of travelers or books his cousins brought back from their own journeys, Lance could imagine were stunning. Still, he had no desire to leave Balmera. He had plenty in his little, idyllic village. 

Lance stripped down to his smallclothes, tossing his shirt, pants, and shoes onto a rock further up on the shore, and waded in, hands skirting atop the water. The water rippled gently, ushering him further and further until it licked at his waist. He shut his eyes, enjoying the encompassing warmth of the sun. It truly was perfect here. Peaceful, serene, quiet... 

"Lance! _LANCE_!" 

Save for Hunk, that is.

" _Whaaat_?" Lance called, unmoving, unwilling to give up his comfort just yet. 

Hunk stood at the shore, eyeing the water distrustfully (ever since Hunk had fallen into the water when they were 12, Hunk refused to dip in even a toe. He'd sit on the rocks and watch Lance dip and dive, with no desire to join him whatsoever.), and called out to Lance. "Your grandma's been looking for you for hours, Lance, she's going to have your head!" 

"Just a bit longer, Hunk," Lance pressed, turning and grinning. "She's old, but she isn't that old. She'll live another thirty minutes." 

"Okay, ignoring the morbidity of that joke, she's seriously gonna kill you," Hunk sighed. "But it's _your_ head, not mine. I'll just be there to catch it when she disembodies you." 

"Hunk, you're a companion of the highest esteem," Lance responded dryly. 

They lingered at the lake for a while longer, Lance soaking up the scenery as much as he possibly could. He was getting older--he'd only just turned 18. In Balmera, at 18, most were expected to set out on a journey, to drink up parts of the world outside of their small village, but Lance held no interest. His family had inquired about it, but when he expressed his disinterest, they didn't press him. He wondered if it was that easy to get out of the tradition for the other youth in the village. Hunk was only 17, but he'd be 18 soon. Lance wondered if Hunk would leave on an excursion. His chest tightened, and he waded back to the shore, sun-drying beside Hunk on the rocks, and once he was satisfied he motioned to Hunk to leave. 

Lance glanced around for his clothes, frowning. They didn’t seem to be anywhere on the shore. That’s weird, Lance thought, scratching his neck. 

“Lance, come _on_ ,” Hunk groaned, already having walked to the edge of the trees. “I don’t want your grandma to kill me, too.” 

“Yeah, just give me… a minute…” Lance shifted some of the larger rocks around, completely befuddled. “I left them right here! Where-“ 

Giggling betrayed the perpetrators, who had been watching from the shade of the trees, and Lance would know that sound anywhere. 

“Niños traviesos!” Lance gasped dramatrically, jumping over the rocks in his way to catch the felons. His younger cousins, Alex and Angel, had snatched his clothes while he swam before. They were infamously mischievous in his family, and messing with Lance had always been their favorite form of amusement. As Lance got closer, they scrambled into the trees in the direction of the village. 

Hunk had doubled over in laughter, perpetually entertained. “Outsmarted by your younger cousins again?” he wiped a tear from his eyes. The sight of a practically nude Lance running after a pair of his younger cousins could always incite a few laughs. 

“Oh, shove it,” Lance grumbled, shaking his head, and he and Hunk made their way back through the trees to the village. “Let’s go. Abuelita’s gonna be pissed.”

* * *

 

“You walk into my house _late_ ,” abuela Isabela Botica crossed her arms, eyeing the two boys in front of her, “wearing close to nothing at all.” She shook her head, a gentle smile tugging at her lips despite her efforts to conceal it. “Thank you for bringing him, Hunk. Lance- go and change quickly. You and I need to chat.” 

Isabela Botica had more years to her than anyone else in Balerma, and was subsequently seen as a trusted figure of authority. There was no governing body in Balerma, nobody to keep order, but the benevolent nature of the townspeople deemed any reigning power obsolete. The village functioned perfectly fine on its own, with his abuela to ensure that things kept running. Lance often fondly referred to her as an “old hag,” but it was well known that she’d always had a soft spot for him. Since he’d been young, Lance had been held to a different standard than his cousins and peers. Where they had all participated in the agricultural facets of the village, Lance had always been encouraged to explore his options. He’d dabbled in smithing, tailoring, medical training… his abuela ensured he had practiced every skill found in Balmera. Moreover, where most of the youth in his village set out on an excursion to explore the kingdom, Lance’s 18th birthday had met no such expectation. It was custom for the masters in the village, the blacksmith and the tailor and the inn keeper alike, to offer advice for the years to come, keeping the journey in mind. Lance had met no such advice, only congratulations and playful jokes about the world barely being able to contain lance as a child; how would it fare in the face of Lance’s adulthood? 

Lance had been berated by his abuela a number of times, and Hunk never failed to find the amusement in it all, chuckling as he and Lance returned to Lance’s room. They found Lance’s stolen clothes, thrown haphazardly onto his bed, and Lance rolled his eyes. They were around somewhere, and, as was only appropriate, he’d have to begin figuring out how to get them back. As Lance tugged a shirt over his head, Hunk sat on his bed, turning his hands over in his lap. “So,” Hunk cleared his throat, pink dusting his cheeks, “Shay turned 18 a couple of days ago.” 

Lance glanced at Hunk, ever patient, struggling with the sleeve of his shirt. 

“And, uh… I’m turning 18, soon, too. You know, a few days.” Hunk was looking everywhere but at Lance, and he steeled himself for whatever news Hunk was beating around the bush at. “She asked if I would go with her, around the kingdom. We’d probably be gone a while… a year or two, maybe.” Hunk finally braved a look at Lance, resolute. “I think I’m going to go.” 

He really should have seen it coming, Lance supposed, but it still stung. “You’re leaving?” 

Hunk nodded, expression troubled. Lance had never been good at controlling his own emotions, and he was sure that his disapproval was clear in his face. “Yeah. I have to, Lance; I can’t stay here forever. I have to see things. Shay wants to see the sea, more than anything. We’re going to Altea, first.” 

Lance turned away from him, unable to hide his frown, his knit-brows. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything for a while. He wanted to ask why, to beg him to stay. Lance wasn’t going anywhere, why should Hunk? But Hunk had been smitten with Shay for years, now, and it was clear to everyone in the village that they were practically soulmates. 

“Hey, that’s-“ Lance cleared his throat, finally pulling his arm through the sleeve. “That’s great, buddy. When are you leaving?” 

“My birthday, we think. Better to get started sooner, you know?” 

Lance grimaced, nodding. “Yeah, sure.” He pulled on a pair of socks, and turned back to Hunk, eyes downcast. “I’m going to go talk with abuelita. She’s been waiting long enough. I’ll catch you later, yeah?"

Hunk stood, watching Lance closely. “Yeah, for sure! You know where to find me.” 

Lance and Hunk parted ways at the entrance to Abuela Botica’s room, and upon entering, she glanced up at him, frowning. “I am old, Lance. Unlike you, I don’t have all the time in the world.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance sighed, flopping down next to her with a huff. They sat on the balcony connected to her room. From there, you could see the garden and, just over the fence, the center of Balmera, alive with activity in the afternoon glow. “So, what are we talking about?”

Abuela Botica took a long sip of her drink, and it was only when she glanced at Lance that he noticed the weariness in her brow. “Hijo, there is much you must know, much you don’t know, and what I’m going to tell you isn’t going to be easy for you.” 

Lance shrugged, grinning. “C’mon, abuelita, give it to me straight. I can take it.” 

Abuela Botica smiled fondly, silent for a moment, before directing her gaze to the garden. “Lance, you were born for something greater than a life spent in Balmera.”

Lance leaned back on his palms, sighing forlornly. “Tell me about it, abuelita, we all know I was born for royalty.” 

“You’d be surprised how accurate that is, hijo,” she chuckled. Lance quirked an inquisitive eyebrow. “Your mother was one of the strongest women I’ve ever met, even if it was only for a short time.” 

Lance frowned, realizing the magnitude of the talk taking place. “You’ve never talked about my mom before.” 

“Hush, hijo, be patient,” Abuela Botica berated, gentle as always. “Your mother was able to make a very grave decision in a matter of seconds. She showed impeccable strength in the face of a dire sitiuation. Your mother taught me the true meaning of courage, and of sacrifice.” Heaving a sigh, Abuela Botica clasped her hands together in her lap, observing the flowers she’d forced Lance to plant a summer ago. He’d poured sweat, tears, and blood into those damn flowers, and to this day couldn’t figure why it’d been so important to his abuela. “Before I tell you any more, Lance, you must understand something. What I tell you here does not change anything. Tú eres mi nieto. You are _family_. Do you understand?” 

Lance pushed forward, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to catch his Isabela Botica’s eyes. “What’s going on, yaya?” 

“There is more to you than you know. Before becoming a Botica, you were a McClain. Neither you nor your mother is related to the Botica family, not by blood. Your mother came to us from the royal city of Earth one night, carrying you in her arms.” 

Lance choked out a harsh laugh. “Is this for ignoring you when you asked for me? Come on, abuelita, stop playing around-“

“Lance.” Abuela Botica’s tone was firm, her expression unchangingly determined. “Please.” 

Lance fell silent, hands curling together against the floorboards. He was beginning to regret returning from the lake at all. "Go on.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so here is 2! thanks for your kind comments, I hope y'all enjoy :) & the smol nerd boys will meet soon i promse

The Botica family had been settled in Balmera longer than anyone else in the village combined. Neither man nor creature could strike fear into the heart of a proud Botica. 

Weather, however, was a different story entirely. 

The sky thundered and poured down onto the village in its rage, sending the animals scurrying for shelter and the townspeople seeking refuge in nearby houses or shops. The younger members of the Botica family had fled into the sitting room, where they huddled together, shaking at each crack of lightning and clap of thunder. Half of the adults were in the sitting room with the children, comforting and watching over them while the storm raged on. The rest were in the room next door, sat around a table, tense and unhappy. Balmerans saw rain once or twice a year, at most, and never was it simply a gentle drizzle. When it did rain, it poured, violent and punishing on anyone foolish enough to venture outside, thunder deafening and lightning blinding. For Balmeran children, their first rainfall was the stuff of nightmares. Going outside during a thunderstorm in Balmera was simply inconceivable. 

This is precisely what came to mind when somebody began pounding on the front door of the Botica household. The knocks were ceaseless and forceful, loud enough to rival the thunder. As the owner of the house and respected matriarch, the adults looked to Abuela Botica, who stood and hurried to the door, confused but urgent. Behind the door was a woman shrouded in a navy cloak, clutching a bundle to her chest. Her eyes were strikingly blue, a color enhanced by the glare of the lightning, and as soon as the door opened, her eyes brimmed with panicked tears. “Please, I seek shelter! This child needs reprieve from the storm.” 

“Come, hurry,” Abuela Botica gestured inside, and a couple of her children retrieved towels and food. “You’re welcome here, niña.” 

“No, I can’t, I’m-“ they heard yelling from the trees, and Abuela Botica could just barely make out nearly a dozen dark figures just behind the edge of the trees. The woman made a choked noise, growing more and more desperate by the minute. “Please, take my son! I can’t stay with him any longer.” 

A wail erupted from the bundle in her arms, and the woman pushed it towards Abuela Botica's arms. Burrowed in the blankets, an infant peered up at her through tear-filled eyes, his hair wet and sticking to his forehead and his tiny hands waving around, grabbing for anything. 

“Be reasonable, niña- you can’t stay outside in this weather, come inside and we’ll-“ 

“No, please, _listen to me_ ,” the woman begged, tears openly streaming, mixing with the heavy rainfall, “my name is Teresa McClain. My name holds no weight in any of the kingdom’s cities. I have no reward to offer you in compensation. I left my home in the royal city of Earth with only the clothes on my back, but please, I _beg_ of you, keep my son Lance safe.”   There was a moment in which only the sky continued to speak, in which neither Abuela Botica nor the aunts and uncles of the Botica family uttered a word while the rain poured on, but when yelling rang out, closer now, the woman presses her son towards Abuela, distress in her cerulean eyes. “ _Please_.” 

“We will protect him with everything we have.” Abuela Botica assured her, reaching out and taking the bundle into her arms. A sob wracked the woman’s shivering frame, and, as the thunder and lightning petulantly demanded attention, she pressed a series of kisses to her son’s cheeks and forehead, grabbing his hand and pressing her lips to his palm, weeping I love you and be goods. "Adios, mi amor," she managed through tears, thanking the Botica matriarch with all of the gratitude she could muster, and turned back out into the storm. 

The wind howled, pained and deafening, and Abuela Botica turned back into the house, directing the uncles and aunts to ensure that the house was closed up, windows secured, curtains pulled, and doors shut tight. 

Lance had stopped wailing, and had begun patting his tummy, eyes searching curiously, small head turning to see everything he possibly could. A few of the adults had crowded around him in an effort to ensure that the storm didn't frighten him too badly, but Lance didn’t seem at all bothered by the thunder and lightning. Rather, as the sky roared, Lance responded with hearty laughter, reaching up, particularly intrigued by Abuela’s red stone necklace. Each of the Boticas in the room couldn’t help but laugh at the strangeness of such a rage-filled storm being accompanied by a joyous child’s laughter. 

Their laughter ceased as shouting overpowered the storm, and they peeked through the curtain, watching as hooded figures marched through the rain with a determination reserved for soldiers. They seemed to be looking for something, checking behind every house and in every alleyway, even going as far as to try and peek into whichever houses happened to have a window not entirely shut. 

“Ahead!” One of the figures shouted, and down the street stood the woman. She gathered something in her arms, and once the shrouded figures adopted a sprint, she turned and ran in the opposite direction, nearly slipping on the stones. A couple of them reached into their robes and pulled out scimitars, which glinted dangerously in the lightning’s sharp glare. 

That was the last time anyone saw Teresa McClain.

* * *

 

Lance wasn’t sure how long he’d been silent, as his abuela patiently waited, but when he finally spoke, his voice cracked painfully. “Why… are you _telling_ me this?” he managed, overwhelmed with a wider range of emotions than he could contain. It couldn’t be true, _none_ of it. He’s always lived here in Balmera, been here, belonged here. Balmera was his home. His mother died of an incurable epidemic when he was a toddler, too young to have retained a single memory of her. That’s what they’d told him. That’s what Lance had lived believing. “This isn’t true, it can’t be. You’re wrong.” 

“Mi hijo, your mother died that night. That is what I believe. We are not aware of who those men were, why they pursued her, or where she had intended to end up with you. But you are here, with us. Soon, you will go out into the kingdom and make a name for yourself. I thought you should know this before you departed, whenever you choose to.” Lance was shaking, but his abuela pressed on. “I know this is hard to take in, but you need to promise me you will not tell anyone else what I have told you here.” 

Anger flickered to life inside Lance’s stomach, and he turned on her, his blue eyes alight with fury. “You thought I should _know_? Why now? Why not before? Or, better yet, why tell me _at all_?” He pushed off the floor, his voice growing louder. “And you want me to promise I won’t _tell_ anyone? What a load of shit, yaya.” 

And all at once, Lance needed to leave. He carded his hands through his hair and turns away from her, away from the garden and from Balmera. Lance ran. 

* * *

 

Keith hadn't seen much of the northern regions of the kingdom. He’d traveled to the seashore to the east, saddled upon his red roan (Keith called her Red for short, ever clever), appreciating the unique hues of the sands. Sunsets in the eastern parts of the kingdom were particularly beautiful, as the shore was composed of sands of brilliant reds, oranges, yellows, and pinks. When the sun finally settled on the horizon, the sand all but mimicked its stunning shades. The mountains to the west held their own brand of beauty, as well. Massive trees towered above the mountain towns, their canopies an impression of blue and green and purple, casting cool shade onto the forest floor. The trunks could grow to be the size of a single house, and different breeds of flowers dotted the environment- the flovitis, a cable-like vine adorned with flowers of all colors, were native to the west, curling around every branch, fence post, or lamp post it happened to sprout beside. They became a bit problematic in the spring, as they grew in through carriage wheels left unused due to the harshness of western winters.

Keith was closing in on the village of Balmera, noting the north’s own particular characteristics. The north was caught between the ranges and the shore; it was hilly, never flat but never rising above a gentle bump in the ground. White-bark trees and golden leaves grew everywhere, and the biodiversity of the north was immense. He’d seen many animals back in the south, and many more in the east and west, but here? Many aeschyli, a small creature with curious dark eyes and puffed up brown fur, scurried across the hills, maintaining a considerable distance from Keith but never leaving his line of sight entirely. The avem, a winged beast with feathers crafted from the sun’s wisps and a beak the color of opal, flew above him, clicking their tongues, rarely diving below the canopies. 

He was alone in his journey across the kingdom, but where other Knights he knew may have been skittish or scared, Keith was perfectly content. The fact that he was alone, however, clued him into just how confidential this mission was. Due to his skill in combat, Keith had often been sent to villages near Earth to eradicate bandits or pecus, a particularly hostile animal with sharp-toothed jaws, thick, coarse fur, and red eyes which seemed perpetually furious. He’d never been sent on a mission involving much… tact before. Keith hoped Shiro knew what he was doing, sending him on this whole excursion. 

Red huffed noisily, and with a shake of her body, her steady trotting came to a stop. She shook out her mane and shifted her head to glance back at Keith, expectant. She wanted him to dismount, but Keith shook his head, frowning. “We’re close, Red,” Keith pressed, gesturing to the trail in front of them. “A day’s ride, at most. Don’t give up on me now.” 

Red refused to budge, sniffing indignantly and lowering her head to try some of the tasty-looking vegetation. Keith patted her side, imploring her to move, and when she predictably stayed stock still, he slid off of her back and moved to look her in the eyes. “ _Okay_. A few hours. That’s it, though, you big baby,” he grabbed her reigns and tugged, leading them a small ways off-trail, not wanting to be caught unawares by anyone looking for trouble, and set up camp. Twilight had begun to fall, and Keith figured he could probably use a few hours, himself. He retrieved the wood he had collected along the trail, in case of an emergency, and made quick work of a small fire. Red snored softly from her spot in the grass, across the fire, and Keith snickered.

When he’d first gotten Red, she’d been the runt of the litter, so to speak. She’d been raised a ways outside of the city, the only one left after bandits had claimed the house, killed the family, and every steed but her, wobbly and newborn when they’d attacked. She had hobbled all the way from her small farm to the city gates, where a nearby stable master had taken her in and raised her. None of the other Knights had chosen her, and because nobody had kindly informed Keith of the ceremony in which newly knighted warriors were selecting their steeds, he’d arrived late, left with one option—Red. The particular breed of horses in the kingdom were unique, as very rarely, a horse would imprint on a human. This wasn’t a common occurrence in the slightest, but when it did happen, it was considered symbolic of the rider’s own strength of character. 

When Keith and Red set eyes on each other, he’d known straight away that she would carry him to the edge of the kingdoms. She trotted across the yard to him, sniffing at his hair and nosing at his cheek, nearly knocking him off balance, before wheezing in what Keith could only identify as a happy horse laugh. Shiro, the commanding officer directing the ceremony, asked if Red was Keith’s chosen steed, and Keith had of course said yes. They’d travel the world together, he and Red. He felt it in his bones even then. 

The other Knights had quipped at him straight away, unable to contain themselves even ten minutes after the ceremony had ended. “The runt and the runt, eh?” one especially nasty fellow jabbed. Commander Iverson, standing a few paces away, turned to watch the scene silently. From the moment Keith had stepped into the castle, he’d seen the contempt in Iverson’s eyes, the blatant glare directed towards him for simply being from the stress of Earth which went unspoken about, especially here inside the castle walls. God forbid a peasant apply to fight for his kingdom. Had Iverson had his way, Keith suspected the entirety of the peasant’s quarter would be entirely eradicated. Keith knew little of Earth politics, having more pressing issues to worry about such as where his next meal would come from and whether or not his shoes would last him the winter, but he did know about the Great Discord. 

The current High King had nearly been robbed of the crown, by Iverson himself. Iverson had ideals, was driven, and was immensely popular with the higher classes of Earth. As one of the High King’s advisors and a man with particularly potent pride, he didn’t take kindly to his advice being brushed off. The High King enacted a reform to the economic system in place at the time, amending the harsh taxes imposed on the peasantry and raising the tax on the nobility. Furious, Iverson rallied a boisterous, enraged collection of noble families to protest the changes, with different lords threatening to call on contacts from the other major cities in the kingdom and even outside of the kingdom. They protested in the castle courtyard for two days, but on the evening of the second day, one of the nobles unsheathed his knife and killed a nearby guardsman. The High King snuffed the protests immediately, and stripped Iverson of his rank as advisor, demoting him to being a commander of the guard. The city hadn’t quite been the same after the ordeal, the peasantry growing more and more mistrustful of the nobility, and the nobility growing increasingly impatient with the peasantry. Keith had always been able to see the tension between the classes, but only recently had it become palpable. 

The snarky Knight continued to lay into Keith, who remained unsurprised as Iverson simply looked down his nose at him. “You two have so much in common—a pair of wild beasts without any family. You’re perfect for each other.” 

Keith _might_ have broken his nose. Red _might_ have shoved him into the horse feeder. 

Shiro had been furious, but it had taken Keith the entire silent walk back to his quarters to understand that it wasn’t him Shiro was clenching and unclenching his fists at. When they’d gotten to his room, Shiro had whirled on him, hands grabbing his shoulders, eyes intense and searching. “Keith, you know they’re wrong, don’t you?” 

Surprised, Keith could only manage a confused, “Whuh?” 

“About you. They’re wrong, they’re- they can’t see your worth, not because it’s not there, but because they’re privileged men, brought into this force because of their influence in the city. You,” Shiro insisted, his expression serious, “are more than what they say.” 

It wasn’t often that anybody stood up for Keith. Not when he’d been a child and certainly not now. But Shiro… Shiro had been different. Keith had always seen that, known that. Shiro held a compassion, a warmth to which others gravitated. He rose up from the soot and the grime of the alleys of Earth to protect the castle walls which had never protected him. Keith didn’t know how he could possibly be so forgiving, so gentle and generous in nature. But he hoped to understand one day.

Keith felt his eyes slipping shut. He circled the fire and leaned back against Red, drifting to sleep in a matter of minutes. He remained that way for a couple of hours before Red shook him awake. The sun was beginning to rise, casting a pink glow over the golden leaves of the trees, and Keith understood that it was time to get moving. He packed up camp, climbed atop his beloved steed, and continued onward down the trail to Balmera. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's three! if y'all have any questions or anything lemme know. enjoy!!

When Lance watched the waves, listened to the whistle of the wind and the hum of the birds, felt the damp, moss-covered rocks beneath his fingers, Lake Alfor was so much more than what was in front of him. 

It became he and Hunk, two tiny seven year olds, wading carefully through the water, containing their excitement as they kept their eyes peeled for a fish of any kind. Abuela had given Lance the task of catching a fish, claiming that any man should know how to catch his own food. Lance had accepted the challenge with vigor, racing off to the lake with Hunk hot on his heels. They’d scanned the waves for an hour before Lance was finally able to wrench a bright blue fish from the water. He stuck his tongue out as it writhed against his hands, slippery and wide-eyed, and held it out for Hunk to take. The poor kid had taken one look at the creature and passed straight out, falling backwards into the thankfully shallow water. Lance had tossed the fish aside, jumping to help his friend back to the shore, where they lay out on the rocks, Lance heaving and Hunk drooling.

Lance blinked and the scene shifted to Hunk and him, fifteen now, crouching behind a particularly large rock, peeking out at Shay, a sweet girl who lived a couple of houses away from Hunk in the village. Hunk’s family had settled in Balmera when he was four and Lance was five. Lance and Hunk had gotten on straight away. From the day they met, when Hunk had clumsily knocked a half-eaten apple out of Lance’s hand as Lance was passing by (prompting Lance to challenge Hunk to a fistfight despite his own lack of skill in the combat department, which subsequently saw Hunk bursting into large tears and Lance apologizing profusely), they’d been practically inseparable. 

Lance knew straight away that Hunk was sweet on Shay. He’d dragged Hunk out from behind the rock, striding confidently up to Shay and introducing himself and Hunk to her in the suavest way he could muster. Hunk had been mortified, but Lance didn’t let Hunk’s aversion discourage him. He’d gone swimming, waiting for as long as Hunk needed, before heading back to the village. Hunk raved about Shay the entire way home that night. 

That’s right, Hunk was leaving. He’d almost forgotten. Lance winced, dipping his feet into the lake, ignoring the chill the night had given it. 

Somehow, Lance knew that everything his abuela had said was true. Why would she lie? It was just so… unbelievable. His family wasn’t really his, his home wasn’t really his. Places like these, like Lake Alfor, glimmering in the moonlight, his one serene paradise, weren’t really _his_. He was a package, dumped on the doorstep of an unsuspecting family by a fleeing mystery mother who left him nothing but a name. Teresa McClain. It was hardly anything to go by. 

Besides, something didn’t quite add up. Why were those men after her, if there was truly nothing to her name? What had she _done_ , who had she _been_ , before stumbling into Balmera? Why had she left Earth and why did she bring _Lance_ along, if it was so dangerous? 

Lance heaved a sigh, tugging his feet out of the water and his knees to his chest. The water rippled, the reflection of the moon staring back at him earnestly. In one day, any certainty he’d formerly felt was gone. His family, while he loved them with all of his heart and would spend his every breath working for their happiness, wasn’t truly his family. 

He needed to know. He couldn’t stew in this… confusion, this uncertainty. Who was he without his identity? His abuela provided him with the truth. He had to do something with it. He was Lance McClain, whoever that is. It was time to figure out exactly what that entailed. 

Lance stood, looking wistfully out at Lake Alfor, before turning and heading back to Balmera with a firmer resolve. He returned to his house, gathering any paraphernalia he deemed useful (a dagger, a bow and a collection of arrows he’d made at the Blacksmith’s insistence, food and water, and a few sets of clothes) and shoving them in his pack. Abuela Botica only needed to take one look at him to understand him wholly. Lance had never appreciated that about her until now. He bid goodbye to his family (were they still his family? yes, _yes_ , god, of _course_ they were, what a stupid question), kissing his abuela on both cheeks. He couldn’t help himself—tears were falling all over the damn place; he’d always been a crier when it came to goodbyes. Luckily for his pride, so was his abuela. Their eyes glimmered with tears, and before he turned to leave, he grabbed her hand and promised to keep what she had told him a secret. Gratitude shone in her eyes, and after one more warm hug, Lance forced himself to turn and make his way to Hunk’s house. 

When he arrived, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to go through with it. Every excuse he could find tempted him to skip this bit entirely. They were probably eating, now was around dinner time for his best friend’s household, and surely Lance couldn’t interrupt the incredible feast they were sure to have spread out on their dinner table (Hunk’s family was renowned for their culinary skill, after all). 

Lance clenched his fist and rapped on the door, three times. 

Hunk answered curiously, gnawing on a chicken leg. “Lance! What’s up, buddy? Want to come in? We just started eating.” 

Lance declined, chuckling nervously, unable to muster a genuine laugh, and Hunk’s eyebrows immediately drew together. He questioned Lance’s stiff posture, and Lance had never been good at these things. He blurted, “I’m leaving. Now.” 

Hunk blinked before stepping outside, pulling the door closed behind him, chicken leg forgotten, hanging by his side. “That’s an awful joke, man. But you came all the way here to mess with me, so come in, already.” 

“I’m not joking, pal. I’m leaving.” Hunk didn’t get it, he was confused, he was- Lance couldn’t tell exactly, there was something indiscernible in his expression. But he certainly wasn’t happy. _Of course he isn’t, idiot_ , Lance thought, _why would he be?_ Hunk shook his head, but Lance pushed on. “I’m going to Earth.” 

“Wha- _Earth_?” Hunk exclaimed, incredulous. “You mean the _other side of the kingdom_? Why?” 

“I… can’t explain.” 

“You can’t explain? Screw _that_ , man, you’re explaining, right now!” Hunk breathed in, frustrated. “You can’t just leave, you’ve never _wanted_ to just leave before. Why now? What happened?” 

Lance considered telling him, he wanted to, he really did. But he promised his abuela, and he couldn’t break a promise. What was he without his word? “I can’t, Hunk, please don’t ask me again. I have to go. I just wanted to tell you before I did.” 

“Lance, you can’t just-“ Hunk’s voice broke a bit, and—ah, there are the tears Lance is so familiar with. “You can’t just leave.” 

Lance’s own vision began swimming, and before the waterworks could really begin to pour, he grabbed Hunk’s hand in his own, giving it a firm shake. He looked Hunk directly in his eyes, trying to convey the deepness of the sincerity he felt. “Hunk, you’re the finest guy I’ve ever known. If we ever meet again, we’ll get drinks and talk about our adventures, and it’ll be just like it is now. You’re like a brother to me. I love you, man. I wish you and Shay the best.” 

Before Hunk could properly respond, Lance dragged him into a hug, firm and warm, before releasing him and wrenching himself away, through Hunk’s yard and out the gate. Hunk called his name and Lance bit his knuckle to silence a quiet sob.

* * *

 

Keith could make out Balmera now, from his place atop a hill looking down on the small village. It was quaint enough—exactly what Keith would picture when trying to imagine an idyllic little village. Though dusk had fallen, the village was lively. A small smile tugged at Keith's lips; he'd always appreciated small towns much more than the larger cities such as Earth. He'd often longed for the wide expanses of the kingdom, for the places to explore and sights to see and beasts to test his mettle. But he had been born in Earth, and that was where he was destined to stay. He had the coin, had the courage, to hand in a resignation and just... _go_. Somehow, he couldn't ever bring himself to leave for good. 

Red trotted along the trail, nosing at the different plants and nibbling at the leaves as she went, but Keith didn't mind the slow pace so much. Torchbugs flew by, humming, brightly illuminated in pink and yellow hues. The moon had risen high, casting a gentle shine over the landscape. 

As for what he'd do once he got into Balmera, Keith... wasn't entirely sure. There was a reason his specialty was combat. Missions involving great deals of patience, calculated thinking, and careful stepping didn't suit him. He dealt with bandits, dealt with scum in the streets of Earth whom the other guards were too meek to deal with. ("They've got not _code_ ," they'd stress in self-defense, "they're unpredictable and savage... That's what _Keith_ is here for, isn't it, Commander?") Keith frowned as the incline of the terrain increased, mumbling reassurances to Red as she made her way carefully down the hillside. Missions like these were foreign ground to Keith. He understood Shiro's motivations, but Keith was hardly the most appropriate choice for the job, skill-wise. Besides, how was he supposed to track down some kid, somewhere in the kingdom? Balmera had been Shiro's best lead, sure, but it was a _guess_ at best. Keith pushed aside his own troubles, focusing his energy on guiding Red along the rocks. 

* * *

 

It might've been a bit hasty, Lance admitted in retrospect, to leave as soon as twilight had fallen rather than waiting until the next morning. 

He'd been traveling along the main trail leading from Balmera for an hour or two, at most, before finding himself suspended in the air, dagger dropped clumsily beneath him. Surely, had it been day, he'd have seen the net hidden beneath the golden leaves and would have skillfully stepped around the tree rope trap set up there. Unfortunately, the moon didn't provide enough light and his determination hadn't exactly put delicate care into his step, and before he could blink, he was--here, sitting like caught prey in a net high above the forest floor. Sighing a string of curse words, Lance peered hopelessly at the floor, where his knife lay uselessly. He hadn't been playing around with it, no, he'd been _practicing_. He had to get used to swordplay, and--well, no time like the present. Evidentially, that saying didn't apply to _every_ 'present'. 

He squirmed, reluctantly admiring the handiwork of the trap. Be them seasoned hunters or slightly-above-average bandits, whoever had put the trap together was no amateur. The net was craftily made, and the branch the construction was tied to simply wasn't budging. He frowned at the forest floor; it would be a far fall, regardless of how he got free. 

Lance shifted again, uncomfortable and utterly frustrated, when he felt the arrows in his quiver jostle. He froze, and smacked his forehead, laughing. He still had his arrows! Reaching around, not without difficulty, he plucked one out of his quiver. He fingered the arrowhead with pride, brought back to the Blacksmith's shop, carving half-heartedly at the rocks he'd been tasked with making into arrowheads. The old man would throw out every arrowhead he didn't deem perfect, but, to Lance's great chagrin, perfect by the old man's standards was extremely difficult to come by. 

There wasn't much wiggle room in his spot in the canopy, so he broke the arrow in two, silently apologizing to the old man who, had he been able to see Lance now, would have probably fallen ill. _No arrow should go wasted_ , he'd scold Lance during those long hours of work, _utilize every arrow and let the bow bring out the best in your abilities_. Welp, right now, this technically _was_ the best of his abilities, so the old man would have to stick it. 

Lance set to work, slicing away at the thick rope, ignoring the fresh cuts burning on his palms. Whoever had set this trap up would likely be back soon, checking on the day's catch. Lance didn't imagine they'd be too happy to find him rather than a plump boar. He was quite lanky, himself. No good meat to be salvaged there. 

The rope began to snap beneath him, and Lance yelped, first in victory--then, in alarm as he plummeted towards the ground. 

* * *

 

Once the land flattened out, becoming less steep and rocky, Red heaved a relieved huff. Keith patted her side, laughing at the disgruntled look she shot back at him, and continued on towards the village. Another hour or so of travel were ahead, he determined with a sigh. He wasn't so fond of traveling during the night. There was less to see, and he certainly wasn't content with the shroud darkness provided for whoever was skillful enough to utilize. 

Keith pulled Red into a slow trot, then halted entirely, as he begun hearing low grunts. He glanced around him, suspicious and alert (the night always seemed to put him on edge, Shiro would tell him), hand on the hilt of his sword. He couldn't make out anything in the darkness, but he was certainly hearing _something_. 

A yelp rang out above him, and as he jerked his head up in surprise, Keith was toppled off of his horse and onto the dirt, momentarily dazed as his head collided with the ground. He lay there for a moment, stunned, before sitting up in surprise, nearly crashing his forehead into the boy above him. Whoever this was, he didn't seem particularly... dangerous. Wide, brilliant blue eyes stared down at him, and the boy sputtered, scrambling off of him and looking around for something. He bent down and plucked a dagger out of the leaves collected on the ground, and Keith jumped up, hand playing on the hilt of his sword. "What were you doing up there?" He demanded, still reeling. 

"I- uh, it was an accident?" The boy responded, visibly nervous, backing away step by step. He held his left hand up, palms facing Keith, in a placating gesture, but his right hand remained gripping the hilt of his dagger. He was shaking, ever so slightly. "Hey, I'm really sorry, I'd stick around to chat, but I-" 

Keith didn't care about whatever he had to say, as he darted forwards and grabbed the boy's left wrist, bringing it closer for examination. He almost couldn't believe his luck--it fit the description perfectly. There was no mistaking it. The family crest, a beast with the top half of a lion and bottom half of a sea creature, could be made out from the burn scar on the boy's palm. Keith looked up at him in surprise, speechless at the fortune of his find, before blurting, "Come with me to Earth." 

"Wh-" the boy blinked, visibly uncomfortable, and wrenched his hand out of Keith's grip, backing away more quickly. "I don't even _know_ you. Listen, I'm sorry about before, but I'm not going _anywhere_ with you. Bye, now." He turned and began jogging away, casting a look back as if to confirm that Keith wasn't following him. Keith took a step forward and the boy bolted, sprinting alarmingly quickly.

"Hey!" Keith shouted, cursing and mounting Red. The pair ran off after the boy, who ducked nimbly through the trees. He was agile, Keith would give him that. But Keith was quicker. Red skidded to a stop just a foot in front of the boy and reared. He stumbled backwards with a shout of surprise, eyes wide. " _Listen_ to me! I'm not trying to hurt you." 

"Oh, yeah?" the boy shot back, false bravado in a shaky voice. "Your horse almost crushing me just now doesn't convey that all too well!" 

Keith sighed in frustration before dismounting and kneeling before the boy, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "I'm sorry, okay?" Red whinnied, lowering her head to peer at the boy. "She's sorry, too. Anyway, _you're_ the one who fell on _me_." Keith stood and extended a hand to the boy. "I'm Keith." He eyed the brunet's right hand, which seemed to be cut up and bleeding. "Let me at least patch up your hand." 

The boy was silent for a couple of beats before heaving a sigh and grabbing Keith's hand. Keith hauled him to his feet, and the boy released his hand, backing up a few paces suspiciously. "I'm Lance. Sorry for falling on you." Lance stuck his injured hand into his pants pocket, and Keith didn't miss the subsequent wince. "It's alright, I'm fine, I'm good, I'm just--I'm gonna be on my way. It was nice meeting you, er, Keith, but I'm going to go." He shot a mistrustful look at Red. "And don't follow me on your demon horse." He turned and began to leave, and Keith resisted the urge to throw something. These assignments  _really_ weren't his forte. 

"Wait!" He called out, and Lance, bless the Gods, actually stopped, turning to look at him cautiously. "You-You're right-handed, yeah?"

Lance nodded slowly. "Yeah...?" 

"You're going to be useless in a fight unless you bandage that hand up." Keith insisted, gesturing to Lance's hand, still stuffed in his pocket. "You'll only make it worse. I just want to help." 

Lance's eyes met his, and Keith held his breath. The people of Earth didn't generally have such striking eyes. Most of them were like Keith, with dark hair and dark eyes. He couldn't help but find Lance's eyes breathtaking. "How do I know you're not going to murder me and toss me in the nearest lake? How do I even know you're medically skilled and _can_ do it properly?" Lance broke him out of his admiring, crossing his arms and frowning skeptically.

Keith shrugged. "I'm a knight of the High King's guard. I'm here to protect the people of his kingdom, not kill them." 

Lance shook his head. "Mm, nope, not good enough. If you think being a guard makes you trustworthy, you don't know anything about your kingdom, _sir knight_." 

Keith frowned, gritting his teeth. Frustration was bubbling in his stomach, and he ran his hands through his hair in an effort to remain composed. How could he possibly convince Lance he wasn't going to kill him? 'I've been sent from Earth to retrieve you and would be a poor excuse for a knight if I killed you'? How was he supposed to _do_ any of this without letting Lance know exactly _why_ Keith wanted him to go to Earth, anyway? He couldn't _tell_ him. Unable to contain his frustration, Keith unsheathed his sword and held out his right hand, slicing a line in his own palm, biting down a wince. He heard Lance suck in his breath, and held out his openly bleeding palm. "There. Now I'm injured, too. I'll fix this, you'll see that I _can_ , and then I'll help you. Does that suffice?" 

Lance was still for a moment, before nodding, eyes wide. "Gods, you didn't have to- alright, yeah, that's fine. Just... fix that already." He nodded at Keith's palm and Keith cracked a grin, using his left hand to unpack his medical tools and get to work. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok here is four! its 3 am and i am so tired so if i messed up the tenses a little bit that is why. hope it's alright, though!! love y'all, enjoy

"So, what's a knight of the High King's guard doing all the way out here, anyway?" 

It was only when Lance began pressing him for answers that Keith realized he probably should have spent his journey coming up with a story rather than mindlessly admiring the landscape. He was wrapping Lance's hand, having only just finished rubbing medicine into the cuts, and he was _trying_ to be gentle, but truth be told, he didn't normally tend to other peoples' wounds. Every time Lance inhaled sharply, Keith's hair stood on end. He couldn't imagine how medics did this every day. 

They'd set up camp on the first flat plot of ground they could find, and Keith had fixed himself up in a matter of minutes. When he had cut himself, he'd at least ensured to injure his right hand, as he relied more heavily on his left. In the case of an attack, he really couldn't afford to be out of commission. 

"I..." Keith swallowed, refusing to look directly at Lance, "I was sent to clear out a bandit hideout. Near here." 

Lance frowned. "Bandits? Near Balmera? That's the first _I've_ heard of any." 

"Well," Keith shrugged, tying up the gauze on Lance's hand and kneading it carefully to relieve any strain or tension in the fabric, "perhaps you don't know _everything_ that's going on at once, young sir." He was aware of the childish nip in his tone, but he couldn't seem to help himself. 

"Perhaps that's true." 

Lance's tone of voice prompted Keith to look up, and an expression which reflected emotions residing deep inside of Lance, unfamiliar to Keith, urged the knight to step off. Keith supposed he didn't know anything about Lance, so it was a bit unfair to prod him. 

"Did you do it?" Lance asked, glancing up at him now. Keith wondered if he knew how disarming his blue eyes were. The campfire bathed them in a gentle glow, and Keith hoped the warmth in his cheeks could be blamed on the fire. 

"Do what?" 

"The bandits, moron." 

"Oh- yeah, I did. I-" Keith cleared his throat, packing away his medical supplies, though neither he nor Lance made a move to distance themselves. They'd sat in front of the fireplace, close enough together for Keith to work properly. "I was going to rest in Balmera, but there's no need for that now." Lance's face fell at the mention of Balmera, and Keith feared he was on the brink of forbidden territory. He turned his body to face the fire, but glanced over to scrutinize Lance. 

Lance's hands sat in his lap, and Keith watched the shadows of the flames dance across Lance's cheeks. He inquired, "What exactly were you doing in that tree, anyway?" Lance's cheeks lit up, and Keith had to fight down a snicker. 

"There was a trap and it was dark," Lance mumbled, and at Keith's quirked brow and curved lips, he sputtered. "Well, _forgive me_ for not being able to see through pitch black darkness!"

"Fine, fine. How'd you get down?" Keith paused. "Other than by falling directly on top of me, that is." 

Now Keith is sure that Lance is flushing--he's even pouting! "Firstly," Lance points a finger at him, "shut up. Secondly," he pulled an arrow out of his quiver, which lay on the ground next to him, and handed it to Keith with a prideful grin, "I used this to cut the rope. Made it myself. According to my perfectionist mentor, it's absolutely flawless." 

Keith examined the arrow for a moment before handing it back, silently impressed. "It's alright." 

"Alright? Just alright?" Lance repeated, disbelieving, and shook his head. "You don't know the first thing about fine craftsmanship, good sir knight, so allow me to inform you that my mentor is the finest blacksmith in the entire kingdom." 

"Is that so?" Keith appreciated Lance's change in attitude, hoping that if he continued some of the sadness etched in his face would disappear. And it did, after a multitude of stories about Lance's village, Lance seemed more fresh and certainly much happier than he had before. _That's the meaning of a home, I suppose_ , Keith thought. He knew he should leave it at Lance's dozens of charming anecdotes, but he couldn't seem to help himself. "You seem to love it. Why would you leave?" 

Lance's jaw snapped closed, and he averted his eyes to the fire, expression falling. There's the forbidden ground Keith had been so careful not to treat onto before. He silently berated himself. "I just left. That's all." 

Again, curse his tongue, he can't seem to leave it at that. "You... just left? For no reason?" 

"Yeah, I did. What of it?" Lance snapped, and Keith frowned. Before he could comment on Lance's attitude, Lance ran his hands over his face. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just... really tired. I just want to go to sleep." 

Keith wanted to ask what had made him so tired, what he was running from. This time, however, he kept his mouth shut and instead grabbed at another topic. "Alright. I have to propose something, though." 

Lance glanced at him, inquisitive. 

"Travel with me." 

Lance's blank stare was enough of an answer, but Keith couldn't give up. "You just left, right? So you don't have a set destination. Come with me to Earth." 

"It seems you've forgotten that we met only a few hours ago." Lance shot back. Keith recognized interest when he saw it, however, and Lance's eyes were glimmering. 

"You trusted me enough to bandage you up, and you can't possibly think you're going to travel alone and afoot all the way across the kingdom." 

Lance measured him with a calculative stare, and Keith did his best not to squirm. After what felt like an hour to Keith, Lance nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Keith's. "Alright, fine. I'll travel with you." 

Keith smiled and stood, stretching his legs. "Great. We'll ride tomorrow, whenever you're ready. I'll be awake." 

Lance nodded, bid Keith goodnight, and lay with his back to the campfire. Not too long after Lance's breathing evened out, Keith's own eyes shut and the camp fell silent, save for the crackling fire and Red's soft snoring. 

* * *

 

Lance didn't know much about the world outside of Balmera. That much was apparent. What he did now, however, were the parameters that made up common sense. And traveling with some man he had very accidentally gotten acquainted with did not fit inside of those parameters. 

Keith had fallen asleep some time after Lance had lay down, but Lance's eyes didn't shut once. After he was sure Keith had fallen asleep, Lance stood and, silently as he could, packed away some of Keith's gauze and medicine into his own pack. He also grabbed the money he could find, a dagger (Keith had a sword and seemed trained, whereas Lance would fare far better with two. Lance would never admit that the thought of him going up against any form of danger with one mere dagger scared him to his core. He was alone for the first time in his life, truly alone, and how terrifying it was). 

Lance left the camp with a last glance back at Keith, who lay slumped against the trunk of a tree. Keith had been kind to him. That much was true. But he had to understand, Lance couldn't possibly travel with someone he didn't know. Lance had heard the stories of the High King's guard, beating citizens and taking their coin. Surely not all of them were so bad, and Keith certainly didn't seem it, but Lance couldn't afford any chances. To compromise himself now? Before he'd even gotten started? Not a chance. 

Lance walked for a mere half an hour before he stopped to take a breath and gather his bearings. The incline had skyrocketed, and Lance was becoming painfully aware of how exhausted he truly was. He hadn't been lying to Keith earlier--he'd had a long day. Possibly the longest of his life thus far. He placed his hand on the bark of a tree and urged himself to keep going, but before he could take a step, something lodged itself in the tree, a hair's breadth away from lance's cheek. Stricken, Lance jumped away, staring at the arrow for a single moment before hearing crunching heading his direction and throwing himself to the ground. He scrambled into the bushes, a hand clamped firmly over his mouth to silence his ragged breathing. His heartbeat was racing, he couldn't calm down, had to stay absolutely _still_ \--

"You said he was over here?" A raspy, male voice grunted, barely ten feet away. Lance's body  jerked ever so slightly, his muscles begging him to run, his brain fighting to reason between whether to fight or to fly. 

"Looked like it." A female voice responded, further away from his hiding spot. "Check over there--that's the arrow." 

The sound of the leaves crunching underneath a boot grew louder and louder, and Lance couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't fight down the panic suddenly flooding his senses. Was he going to die? He was going to die. 

The crunching stopped abruptly, so close to him that Lance begged himself to look up, to just _check_ , but before he could make any moves, a gloved hand gripped a handful of his hair and hauled him off of the ground. Lance cried out, hands flying up to try and pry the hand off, to loosen the grip. 

"I got him!" The bandit wrapped an arm around Lance's front, over his throat, to keep him steady. "What's a little fellow like you doing wandering around at night? Don't'cha know it's dangerous out here? Lots of shady characters, you see." The man cracked a feral grin, and Lance felt his blood run cold. 

"Let me _go_!" He hissed, struggling against the man's grip. "I have nothing of value! I'm worth nothing to you!" 

The other two bandits had caught up now, standing in front of Lance, eyeing him amusedly. "Empty his pockets." The woman ordered the man holding Lance, and his vice-like grip loosened as he reached around to grope at Lance's pockets. Lance took saw his opportunity, saw what might've been his only chance, and pulled out the dagger he'd hidden inside his tunic, breaking away from the bandits. He backed up furiously, pulling out the dagger he'd taken from Keith, all guilt he felt for stealing it vanishing. He _needed_ this. 

The bandits weren't deterred, however. Their grins only sharpened, and as the men unsheathed swords and the woman drew her bow, Lance yelled for Keith. 

* * *

 

Keith first saw the sky when he woke with a start, a massive darkness flecked with stars. He rubbed at his face, surprised at himself for falling into such a deep sleep, and just to be safe, he turned and glanced towards where Lance had been sleeping, only for his breath to stop in his throat. 

He was on his feet in a matter of seconds, stashing his belongings into a nook in the tree and waking Red furiously. He searched through his knapsack, growling in frustration at the sight of a missing dagger. That reckless idiot, that utter _moron_. 

Keith grabbed his sword and mounted Red in one swift movement, racing off into the woods, blind and searching. He shouted Lance's name, ignoring the frantic edge to his voice. How could he have been so _careless_? How had he slept right through some kid, who had never left his small village, leaving _right under his nose_? Had he really let his guard down so much? Stupid, he was so _stupid_. 

Keith heard Lance's voice, calling his name, fear-stricken and desperate, and something inside of Keith sprung to life. He guided Red through the thick woods with skill reserved for a master rider, ducking underneath branches and vaulting over thick roots at an alarming speed. Keith yelled Lance's name again, and as he turned frantically, he saw three figures illuminated dimly in moonlight in the distance, and he was  _off_. 

As he and Red approached, Keith could make out Lance, huddled against the trunk of a tree with a dagger pressed tightly to his throat. One of the bandits was searching his pockets, pulling out whatever he deemed valuable. A woman turned, spotting Keith and raising her bow immediately, firing an arrow with impressive speed. It nicked his bicep, and Keith bit down a hiss, dismounting Red once they were close enough and landing a kick which sent one of the men to the ground. He glanced at Lance, and though it was too dark to make out much, he registered a cut on his lip and a bruise on his cheek. Lance looked mortified, and Keith was _livid_. 

The robbers directed their attention to Keith, the obvious greater threat, allowing Lance to sink to the ground. They advanced on Keith, who set to work, punching out the first man and kicking the second man's feet out from underneath him. One stayed down while the other stood and lunched, dagger drawn. Keith deflected his attack and delivered a punishing blow to the back of his neck, watching him fall and lay still. 

"You fucking--we saw him first! Find your own prey." The woman spat, arrow drawn. As Keith advanced towards her, she began to panic, and fired the arrow directly into Keith's right thigh. Keith staggered, dropping to one knee with a hiss. His hand flew to his wound, and his fingers became warm and blood-soaked in a matter of seconds. With Keith momentarily occupied, the woman skirted around him, discarding her bow and pulling out a dagger, lunging at Lance in crazed desperation. 

Keith whipped his head around and, despite the searing pain in his leg, forced himself to his feet, forced himself to _move_ \--

Lance threw out his hands, clasped tightly around the hilt of his dagger, and screwed his eyes shut as the bandit fell onto his blade. She coughed blood up onto his shoulder, and Lance all but threw her off of him, dagger forgotten. Keith winced as Lance's breathing hitched and sped up, and once he'd dragged himself close enough to the kid, he noticed the tears rolling furiously down Lance's cheeks.

"Lance," Keith spoke slowly, as if speaking to spooked animal, "Lance, it's over. It's done. You're alright. You're fine." 

Lance didn't seem to hear him, couldn't seem to see him, and Keith ground his teeth together. He wasn't sure how this night could have gone much worse. Were he to have thought up a worst case scenario at the beginning of the night, it'd have most definitely been this. 

Lance began to wail, crying so loudly and openly that Keith jumped, startled. But he waited patiently, sitting close enough beside him so that Lance could take comfort in his presence without feeling suffocated by it. It took a while, but once Lance's cries died down to quiet sniffles and sobs, Keith turned towards him. "Lance, I'm, uh... Just trust me?" 

Lance looked at him now, and something in Keith's heart _hurt_. Seeing the guy like this... Keith reached out, shuffling closer to Lance, and wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulder, ignoring the pain burning in his thigh, mumbling consoling words. It was Lance's first time killing another human being, Keith assumed. It had to be. 

Lance peeked at the woman lying next to him out of the corner of his eye, and bile rose violently in his throat. As he threw up on the forest floor, Keith knelt beside him, rubbing his back and encouraging him in the gentlest tone he could manage. After a few minutes of dry heaving, Lance's breathing returned to normal, and he sat up. "I'm okay... I'm okay." 

Keith nodded, watching Lance intently. He wanted to chew the kid out, wanted to yell and ask in what kingdom going off on his own would have been a smart plan. But Lance was still shaking, if only slightly, and Keith's own vision had begun to swim a bit. He glanced down at the arrow in his thigh, considering, and Lance followed his gaze, gasping. "Your leg--" 

Keith grunted, nodding, and grabbed the other dagger from Lance's belt ( _Keith's_ dagger). He cut at the wood, as close to his thigh as he could get it, and stood only to promptly nearly fall back to his knees. Lance caught him, however, supporting his weight, and somehow, they both managed to mount Red. She took them back to the campsite, and Lance helped Keith lay out on the grass. 

"I was watching you earlier," Lance said, retrieving the medicine and gauze from his bag. "I can clean it, but I don't know how to get... _that_ out." Lance gestured to the arrowhead still lodged in Keith's thigh. 

Keith glanced down at it, considering, before reaching for Lance's ( _his_ ) dagger. "You're not going to like it," Keith pointed the dagger at the wound. "This should be just thin enough for you to... you know." 

Lance's eyes were wide and disbelieving, and Keith offered to it himself, but Lance insisted he could, he _would_. Keith would be lying if that wasn't a massive relief--at the rate he was bleeding, he was far too dizzy to steadily fish an arrowhead out of his muscle tissue. 

Lance gave him a warning before he sank the knife into his thigh, but Keith couldn't help his shout of pain. It'd been a long while since Keith had gotten a wound like an arrow being lodged in his body. Maybe he was getting soft; he was sure it didn't hurt this badly last time this happened. 

Keith felt himself slipping as Lance worked. He fruitlessly fought off a wave of exhaustion, and Lance appeared in his line of sight, beautiful blues full of pearl-shaped tears, exclaiming something about having gotten the arrowhead out. Keith's eyes fell closed before he could manage any response.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ayyy here it is! hope y'all enjoooy <3

Keith blearily awoke to the sun filtering through golden leaves, warm where it fell. A soft breeze kicked at the bushes and the grass, brushing over his bare arms. Bare? Keith glanced down. His armor had been removed; he was lying on a bedroll in his black tank and pants. His left bicep had been wrapped, and when he raised his arm experimentally, a sharp, biting pain forced a grunt from his mouth and a grimace to to his face. He lifted his right arm to brush his fingers over the bandages, a small smile unconsciously tugging at his lips. Lance was certainly no medic, but he hadn't done an awful job. 

Through the pain, Keith sat up, duly noting the ache in his thigh, and looked around. He was back at the camp they’d set up last night. His movement caused Red, who had been nipping at a nearby berry bush, to trot over, pressing her nose against his face, making soft noises as Keith reached up to pat the side of her head. Otherwise, the camp was empty. No Lance. Heaving a sigh, Keith rubbed at his eyes. He was really in no state to go after Lance, but he didn’t see much choice. Shiro had entrusted him with this. Keith had to do everything in his power to see this through.

Standing through the hot pain in his leg, Keith used Red as support and hobbled over to his clothes, which were lying neatly against the trunk of the tree he’d stashed his belongings underneath. Lance must have gotten the medical equipment from his bag, as it was lying not far from where he’d been laying down. Keith shook his head, trying to clear it. He didn’t remember much of last night after they’d returned to camp. He remembered Lance working to patch him up through tears, remembered him shouting something about the arrow. Keith wondered if he’d managed to get it out. 

Keith braced himself for the inevitable pain of getting dressed when the bushes behind him rustled. “Hey- what are you _doing_? Are you crazy, you can’t--standing is off-limits!” 

Keith whirled around before he could think about it, and shouted as his leg gave out. Lance, who had been holding twigs and berries he’d gathered in his arms, dropped everything, sliding across the campsite to catch Keith before he could hit the ground. 

“You--I thought you--” Keith sputtered through the pain, but Lance rolled his eyes. 

“What, left? No,” Lance’s expression grew grim, and he swallowed, “after last night, I think it’s best I don’t travel alone.” 

Keith was... surprised, to say the least. He’d pegged Lance as reckless, thoughtless, unconcerned with his own safety in the face of a foreign expedition. But this... Keith definitely preferred this outcome. 

“ _You_ , however,” Lance stood Keith up, wincing as he hissed, and walked him to his bedroll, “are to stay right here until I can map out the best route to Altea. It’s the closest major city, there’s got to be someone there who can help you properly. I mean, I did an amazing job, but I’m no seasoned medic.” Lance eyed Keith. “You’re actually the first person I’ve ever treated. Does it hurt?” 

Keith rolled his eyes. “I got shot in the leg. What do you think?” 

Lance flinched, eyes downcast. “Right, stupid question.” 

Keith exhaled sharply as he lay down on the bedroll, and after he was situated, Lance ran a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, this is all my fault. You’d have never gotten shot if I hadn’t... If I hadn’t--” 

Keith held up a hand, still catching his breath from the short few steps from the tree to his bed. “I get it, Lance. You don’t have to apologize.” 

“I-” Lance indignantly sat up on his knees, eyes alight, “I _do_! I do have to apologize, because I left and you came after me and you got fucking _shot_ , and it’s my fault!” 

Keith watched him, considering, before directing his attention to the avem flying above, their feathers greatly complimented by the morning sun. “Alright, apologize if it makes you feel better. But, like I said, I’m a member of the High King’s guard. I did my job. That’s all.”  

Lance was quiet for a moment, but a sharp laugh brought Keith’s attention back to him. Lance was wiping tears from his eyes which Keith was pretty sure weren't even there in the first place. 

“Wha--” Keith sputtered, suddenly embarrassed. 

“Okay, mister big brave knight,” Lance laughed, “you’ve made your point.” He quieted down, his eyes falling upon Keith’s, sparkling in amusement. “Thank you.” 

Keith nodded, and his eyes followed as Lance stood, bending to rifle through his bag. To say he was relieved that Lance was still with him--and was completely _willing_ to return to Earth with him, Shiro would never believe this--would be a vast understatement. Keith wouldn’t lie--the mere thought of having to ride blindly through the Balmeran forests in search of Lance exhausted him. In his current state, Keith wasn’t fit to ride or even fight. He hadn’t been injured on a mission in quite some time, but the pulsing pain and mental exhaustion greeted him like old friends. He wondered at the worst he’d ever fared on a mission, but all that came up was the time when--

“Alright! So,” Lance dropped down next to him, tearing him from his idle thoughts and laying out a map beside him. “This is the fastest route to Altea, but there’s a ridge which I'm willing to bet will kick your ass, so I’m vouching for the longer, safer route. I ran it by Red while you were asleep, by the way, and she was totally on board.” At the sound of her name, Red glanced over, but promptly continued chewing on the leaves of a strawberry bush. 

“No way,” Keith shook his head. “Fast route.” 

“Did I mention that the fast route will totally kick your ass? As in, you’re hurt pretty badly now and if we go that direction you run the risk of _actual death_?” 

Keith shrugged.

“Do you think that’s a convincing response to being informed about almost certain death?” Lance rolled up the map, frustrated. “Because, yeah, it’s not. At all.” 

Keith rolled his eyes. “I won’t die, and Red can handle a steep slope and some slippery rocks.”

Lance threw his hands up in the air, disbelieving. “Fine! You win!” He pointed a stern finger at Keith. “But if I think even for one second that you’re about to die, we’re pulling back and taking my nice, safe route.” 

“It feels like just yesterday that you were falling out of trees, now you’re the boss,” Keith teased. 

“Really? Are you going to lord that over me for the rest of eternity?” 

Keith quirked a smile. “Maybe.” He pushed himself into a sitting position, grimacing and ignoring Lance’s protests that he needed to ‘go slow’. Slow, his ass. The faster they got to a proper medic, the better. 

Once he was standing, an arm slung around Lance’s shoulder (he politely ignored the way Lance leaned down way further than necessary, Keith wasn’t that short, damn it), he struggled onto Red’s back, with Lance supporting him as he climbed on. Lance mounted Red behind him, and Keith found it surprisingly difficult not to notice the presence behind him. He didn’t normally ride on horseback with another person, this was-- _odd_ , to put it simply.

Ignoring the pain in his leg, Keith squirmed and shifted atop Red, trying to find a position more comfortable with Lance directly at his back. What did Lance have in his pockets? Keith wondered, shifting against what felt like the hilt of a dagger. Speaking of--did he still have Keith’s dagger? Lance demanded his attention by pressing an urgent hand into his shoulder. Keith glanced back at him, surprised to find that Lance’s face was peculiarly flushed. 

“Could you, uh,” Lance glanced down at his lap, sheepish, “not do that?”

Keith followed his gaze, and after a moment of realization, his own face lit up, brightly blushing. He exclaimed, “You--why are you doing that?” 

“Why are you asking me? It just happened!” Lance shouted back, bringing his hands up to cover his face. “Oh, my gods, stop _looking_ at it.” 

Keith whipped back around, taking care to be still as a statue, now. He couldn’t seem to cool the heat in his cheeks. 

“Alright, let’s just--” Lance swallowed, “let’s just forget about that forever. And start walking. Please.” 

Keith nodded, signaling Red to start down the trail, coughing a bit to clear his throat. They sat in awkward silence which eventually eased up into companionable chatter, with Keith asking Lance about the flora and fauna native to the northern kingdom. It provided an easy enough distraction, at least. 

Keith had never... He wasn’t _experienced_ , so to speak. Any sort of relationship, sexual or emotional or otherwise, had never really been in his scope of vision. From a young age, he struggled, left without any family or means to survive. He’d been forced into petty thievery before being offered a job with the blacksmith after trying to nick some of the ore kept around the forge--it’d sell for a hefty price. He’d failed, of course, but by some stroke of luck the old man took pity on him, offering him a job at the shop. Keith worked there for years, provided with enough money to stay in a run-down hut outside of the city, before a commanding officer of the guard saw him testing out a newly smelted blade and implored him to enlist in the guard. He’d shown promise. 

Keith thought about that blacksmith from time to time. He was the closest thing to a parent Keith had ever known. Keith wondered if he was doing alright. 

Regardless, Keith had never had time nor tune to engage in any sort of relationship. Nobody in the barracks got to know him well enough to take any interest past asking to duel him--except Shiro, of course, but Shiro was different. Whereas the blacksmith had filled the role of his father, Keith could easily call Shiro his brother. 

He’d never truly considered it before, romantic involvement. He truly just... had never had any interest. He wondered if Lance had ever... well, _you know_. Keith flushed, unable to think on the topic any longer, directing his attention to carding his fingers through Red’s mane.

* * *

 

If Lance didn’t get Keith killed first, he was pretty sure _Keith_ was going to kill _him_. 

Lance wasn’t sure Keith really understood the effect he could have--what, with those stupidly pretty eyes and his admittedly incredible body and his voice, which may as well have been strung together with the notes from a harp. Of course, Lance would never admit that to his _face_. Keith may have saved his life, but he was still a snarky member of the ‘ _High King’s guard_ ,’ as he so liked to remind Lance. 

Lance thought back to the night before, after... everything. There had been blood, so much more than Lance had ever seen at once. He’d tried to keep as still as possible when removing the arrowhead, but once he finally had the damned thing in his hands, notably not lodged in Keith’s leg, he allowed himself to cry. Or maybe he’d been crying beforehand. He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. Lance grit his teeth, remembering the ice cold panic that set in once Keith’s eyes slipped closed, when he wouldn’t respond to Lance’s shouting. Lance had been too afraid to shake him awake. His arm was bleeding, as well as his leg, and Lance would really need to remove all of this fucking chainmail if he wanted to get anything done. 

Lance had removed Keith’s armor, leaving him in a tank top and light pants, thanking the gods that the pant leg rolled up far enough that Lance wouldn’t have to take those off, too. He hadn’t been _ogling_ Keith, per se, but he _had_ happened to notice his incredible arm muscles. As he’d leaned over Keith to grab his own bag, he lightly placed his hand on Keith’s stomach and tried to ignore the impeccable firmness. Did this guy work out every day or something? _Christ_. 

He had patched Keith up as well as he could, hands shaky and vision blurry. He’d never treated wounds like this, under pressure like this. Sure, his aunt, who ran the apothecary in Balmera, had given him pointers and allowed him to sit in and watch as she worked, but _he’d_ never done it, personally. Keith seemed alright, now, though. As alright as one could be with injuries like his, Lance supposed. 

It was by some miraculous stroke of luck that a stranger as capable as Keith had happened upon him, and was even going to the same exact city as Lance. When he left Balmera, Lance had been sure that his journey would be very long and _very_ silent. He didn’t so much mind Keith’s teasing--he’d take it over the quiet stillness of traveling alone through a foreign land in a heartbeat. All they really needed to focus on now was getting to Altea, and from there, Earth. What he'd do when they arrived, Lance wasn't so sure. He didn't exactly know _what_ he was looking for. A family with the surname "McClain" was a good starting point, but... that was all Lance had to go by. He shook his head, sighing. He'd figure out all of the semantics _after_ they got Keith properly patched up. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyy number 6 leggo

The gleam and glow of Altea struck Lance speechless as Red climbed the hills overlooking the seaside city. The sea sparkled and the white walls which surrounded the city shone against the sun’s glare. Lance could make out hints of blue—blue rooftops, blue window shutters, the massive blue entrance carved into the perimeter wall. Even more astoundingly, the sands weren’t just beige—they were red and yellow and orange and pink, and Lance had never seen anything like it. 

The trip had taken two days, long and grueling, with Keith’s condition growing worse as they grew closer and their water supply dwindling. Lance knew that Keith was withholding just how badly his leg was affecting him, but he could see past the front Keith put up. He didn’t miss the way Keith’s breath hitched when Red moved particularly jerkily or the whiteness of his knuckles as they descended the ridge Lance had been so (rightfully) worried about. He chose not to comment on Keith’s quiet struggling, knowing it would only irk the knight. 

Lance quite enjoyed Keith’s presence, in fact. They often shared banter which brought back memories of talking with Hunk on the edge of Lake Alfor, and when they did argue (which was inevitable, given both of their admittedly confrontational personalities) it blew over in a matter of ten minutes. Out of the two of them, Lance was more likely to hold a grudge, but Keith’s pained expression throughout the journey urged him to help more than anything. 

Red made the descent to Altea smoothly, and Keith’s hands relaxed a bit, to Lance’s relief. They entered through the front gates and Lance was entranced. The city was bustling, with more people than Lance had ever seen in one place before. Small children ran through the streets, grey with concrete and bright with the large white stones of the region, and, given the early hour, many merchants had begun to set up shop along the main street directly ahead of them. 

Lance’s eyes may as well have been sparkling as he glanced around in awe, his head moving quickly in order to take in everything at once. He watched a woman swing open blue shutters and stared at a merchant slipping two small children beautifully ripe fruit, and not asking for a coin in return. He watched the children’s faces split into goofy grins and scamper back through the thick crowd, disappearing from Lance’s sight in a matter of seconds. Lance _loved_ it. 

As they advanced through the side streets, unable to take Red down the main road, the path became more narrow, and Keith and Lance resigned themselves to dismounting Red and continuing without her. Keith instructed her to go outside the castle walls while they finished business at an apothecary—Lance couldn’t tell how well Red understood him, because as far as Lance knew animals didn’t exactly speak english, but Red turned with a nod of her head and trotted back towards where they came. 

A bit further in was an apothecary, a woman with laugh lines, greying hair, and kind blue eyes. She led them through her shop and into the back room—her store was filled with ingredients Lance had never even heard of before. Three large, thick leaves hung from the ceiling, some sort of sap dripping into a bowl beneath them, and small jars on the counter held the eyeballs of a variety of animals. He cringed and glanced back at Keith, who was being instructed to remove his pants and sit down with his foot elevated above a steaming bucket of water. 

The apothecary inspected Keith’s leg for nearly thirty minutes before beginning to apply some sort of liquid to his thigh. Keith hissed, hands clenching at his wooden seat, and Lance knelt beside him, placing Keith’s hand on his shoulder. “Go ahead, squeeze away,” he said with a wink, and for a moment Keith had looked thrown off before screwing his eyes tightly shut as the woman dipped a small tool with a coating of clear gel into Keith’s wound. He gripped Lance’s shoulder, a grip which grew tighter and tighter with every move the apothecary made, but once she was finished, she sat back with a satisfied sigh and began to wrap his thigh in gauze. 

“Good that you came when you did,” she noted, glancing up at Keith and smiling. “It was a couple of hours away from becoming badly infected.” 

“Thank you,” Keith said to her, gratitude evident. The woman nodded in return, warm and beaming. 

After Keith was properly patched up, Lance and Keith left the apothecary and began to look for an inn. They would have continued on their journey, but Lance was adamant to let Keith heal (it had been his fault, after all) and the apothecary had suggested resting for a night or two, so they searched for an inn. They found one towards the entrance of the city, at the mouth of the markets, and by the time they bought a room for a night the sun had begun to set. Lance wanted to see the sands, all lit up in the fire of the setting sun. 

Lance had immediately thrown himself onto the bed next to the window, claiming it as his. He lay on his side, head propped up in his hand, and watched Keith exhale in relief as he sunk onto his bed.

After a moment of silence and allowing the long day’s events to catch up with them, Lance said, “Teach me how to fight.” 

Keith’s head whipped around to look at him, and after a moment of gaping silence, Keith frowned, eyes drawn together. “Why?” 

“Wh—because I nearly got killed the other day—nearly got _you_ killed—and we’re traveling _together_ , so you can’t be the only one who knows how to fight,” Lance retorted. Lance knew a little from his play-sparring with Hunk when they were younger, but Keith was trained, he was a “member of the High King’s guard,” he could teach Lance how to wield a weapon and un-teach him to blanch at the touch of a weapon’s hilt. Lance could fire an arrow well enough, but close combat was something different entirely. 

After a moment of speculative silence, Keith turned away from Lance, saying firmly, “You don’t need to fight.” 

Angered, Lance sat up. “What are you talking about?” He gestured towards Keith’s leg. “If I could, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt so badly.” 

“Lance,” Keith responded, “it wasn’t your fault.” 

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” 

They sat in silence for a moment before Lance pressed on, ever persistent. “Keith. I need to know how to handle myself in a fight. Teach me how to fight.” 

Keith looked at him, eyes searching his face with the intent to find something, and when he came up empty, Keith shook his head. “No.” 

Lance’s face screwed in anger, and he stood, hands clenched. “Fine. I’ll find someone who will.” He slipped on his shoes, ignoring Keith saying his name, and strode out of the room. Keith stumbled after him, gritting his teeth. 

“Lance!” Keith shouted as he made it to the top of the stairs. Lance was just reaching the bottom. “Lance, _wait,_ god damn it _-_ ” The patrons at the inn glanced at them, and Keith loathed the attention.

“Wait for what?” Lance spun around, eyes narrowed. “I can’t wait anymore, Keith, that’s all I’ve ever done. I’m done waiting.” 

“What are you even planning to do?” Keith countered, relieved that Lance had stopped. He descended the stairs after him, ignoring the pulsing in his leg. “Who do you think you’ll find at this time of night?” Keith’s unspoken message made its way to Lance well enough, as his eyes widened ever so slightly and he pressed his lips into a thin, white line. Lance was about to race off into an unfamiliar city under the cloak of night, armed with only one dagger and a lack of knowledge on how to use it. 

“What am I supposed to do?” Lance retorted stubbornly. “You won’t teach me. I can’t not know how to fight, Keith.” 

Keith grit his teeth before growling, frustration bubbling in his chest. Many of the guests at the inn turned back to their drinks, minded their business or at least pretended to, but a number of eyes were still on them, and Keith really wasn’t good at this _laying low_ thing. “Fine. _Fine_ , I’ll teach you. Just come back upstairs.” 

Lance’s eyes blinked wide open and an astounded grin broke out across his face. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Keith relented, turning away from the brightness of Lance’s beam, slowly making his way back up the stairs. “Come on, already.” 

Lance followed Keith back into the room, chattering away about his impeccable archery skills but his unfortunate ignorance when it came to close combat, and as they sat on their separate beds, Keith flopped backwards, tuning him out. He was supposed to retrieve Lance and deliver him to the king—Keith still had no clue as to why exactly Lance was so important to the king, but he was sue the High King wouldn’t be thrilled with Lance arriving equipped with the knowledge of how to effectively disarm and incapacitate someone. 

“Keith? Hello?” Lance appeared above him, face close and eyes curious. “I’m talking to you, you know.” 

“Uh,” Keith responded smartly. 

Lance sat on the bed next to Keith. “I _asked_ ,” said Lance with exaggerated patience, “why did you become a knight?” 

Keith blinked, sitting up. “Why?” 

Lance quirked an eyebrow. “Do I need a reason to know more about you than your name?” Pursing his lips, he added an afterthought, “And that you haven’t brushed your hair in roughly a week, which I could have gone without knowing, by the way.” 

Keith rolled his eyes. “It was something to do, I guess.” 

Lance frowned at the vagueness of his response. “‘Something to do’? I heard the High King is picky and his guard could conquer a whole kingdom. And you just decided to do it because it’d fill time.” Lance shook his head. “Bullshit, why’d you really join?” 

“That’s a rumor,” Keith retorted, before considering his answer a bit more thoroughly. “I worked for a blacksmith in Earth, and one of the officers started watching me practice on the dummies outside of the shop. After a week, he recruited me.” Keith shrugged. “That’s it.” 

“First of all,” responded Lance, “you’re awful at telling stories. Second of all, isn’t that kind of awesome? Are you seriously that good?” 

Keith averted his gaze from Lance’s as heat rose in his cheeks; it wasn’t often that Keith received praise, of any kind. “Uh, I guess.” Desperate to escape Lance’s wide-eyed stare, Keith asked, “What about you, why do you suddenly want to fight?” 

His inquiry did the job, as Lance’s eyes searched around the room, lingering on the window. “I don’t want what happened the other night to happen again,” he replied quietly. “I… I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t move or fight or—“ he breathed in shakily. “I can’t even pick up my knife without thinking about that woman.” His eyes flickered up to catch Keith’s, pained. “I _killed_ her. She was a person with a life and memories and I just ended it.” 

“She was trying to kill you,” Keith pointed out, and Lance nodded. 

“Yeah, but I want to fight without killing. People don’t have to kill or be killed. There’s always an alternative.” Lance gestured to Keith. “I mean, _you_ did it. You knocked those two guys out cold. That’s what I want to learn.” 

“Lance,” Keith wasn’t always the best at being comforting, but, feeling compelled to ease Lance’s troubles, he placed a hand on his shoulder. Whenever Keith was upset, Shiro would do the same, and somehow, it always helped his anger ebb away. “You did it out of self-defense. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll teach you how to handle yourself in a fight when we camp.” 

Lance smiled gratefully, and as Keith dropped his hand, Lance cleared his throat. “Great, awesome. I’ll be kicking ass in no time.” 

Rolling his eyes, Keith went back to lying down, a small smile playing on his lips. “Go to bed, idiot.” 

“Idio- I’m way smarter than you, moron,” Lance responded, eyes wide with fake hurt, but he stood and returned to his bed. It only took ten minutes after he lay down for his breathing to steady. 

Keith lay awake for a while longer, pondering what Lance had said. Keith remembered his first kill with grueling detail. The memory chilled him even then, seven years later. The feeling of the blade sinking into the gut of a Galran assailant, the sharp exhale of breath and the dull thud of his body hitting the wood panel floors at Keith’s bare feet. 

He pushed the memory down, away, back into the corners of his mind that he refrained from venturing. Keith had many memories like that, snippets of his life which he locked away, out of sight, whenever they made their way back to the surface. He climbed underneath the covers, blew out the light, and stared into the darkness, carefully avoiding troublesome thoughts as patrons in the inn’s bar shouted merrily downstairs.

* * *

At the edge of the city, backed up against Earth’s walls, lived the peasantry and the downtrodden. Children, famished and tired, played in the mud as merchants’ voices fought to dominate the competition. The noise was deafening—the shouting and the doors slamming and the pigs, kept sloppily in the same mud in which the children played, sneering and snorting at every passerby. Amidst the chaos, Pidge Holt, a girl short in stature and quick in pace, made her way out of the gates. Her eyes, sharp and green and knowledgable, found their target—a cloaked woman, fifty meters to the right of the gates, standing against one of the apple trees merchants’ children picked from.

“Have you got news?” the woman asked as Pidge approached. 

“Depends,” replied Pidge easily, “have you got coin?” 

Fishing a pouch out of her shawl, the woman handed it to Pidge, who weighed it in her hand and jingled the coins inside. Once she found it to her liking, Pidge tucked it away in one of the many pouches stitched to her belt. “Much obliged,” she said happily. “The boy is in Altea. He arrived with a knight yesterday, and they got a room at the Juniper Berry inn.” Pidge pulled a letter from her jacket pocket, handing it over. “The rest is inside.” 

The woman listened intently, and once Pidge finished relaying her information, she glanced to the side with a huff. “I do hope you’re not withholding any information. I’ve dealt with your kind before, and if you are, there will be harsh consequences.” 

Pidge smiled wryly. “Madam, with the coin you’re paying, I don’t need to withhold any information. And,” she shrugged, “you wouldn’t know if I did.” 

The woman made a noncommittal noise before scanning the letter. When she was finished, she folded it and tucked it into her shawl, glancing up at Pidge seriously. “I’d like to hire you again,” she said. 

“Great,” Pidge replied, “what do you need done?” 

“The knight in possession of the boy has gone rogue; he’s involved in human trafficking, and intends to sell the boy off to the Galran empire. You are to retrieve the boy, eliminate the knight, and bring the boy to a small cottage I own, south of Altea. He is to be unharmed. Are we clear?” 

Pidge frowned. “We’re a thieves guild,” she pointed out, “we’re not murderers.” 

The woman fixed her with a knowing look. “I will pay you more than your guild could steal in a year, if you do this one job for me. If the knight lives, the boy will never be truly safe.” 

Pidge quietly contemplated the offer. “Regardless,” she shrugged, “I can’t commit to this blindly. Who is this boy? Some nobleman’s kid?” 

The woman hesitated, casting a glance around the area, and murmured, “I will pay you a fortune to do this for me, but the confidentiality of this job is of the utmost importance.” 

Pidge waved away her concerns. “I already swore my oath to secrecy, madam—if I betray you, you’ll have me and my men killed faster than I can swipe a coin purse. I understand the conditions.” 

Nodding, the cloaked woman cleared her throat. “Very well,” she said, and as Pidge nodded in acknowledgement of the conditions, she continued, “This boy is more than a simple nobleman’s son. He,” she inhaled slowly, her eyes fluttering shut as her brows furrowed irritatedly, “is Earth's future king.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 7!! hope y'all enjoy it <3

For the first time since he’d left Balmera, Lance woke up with a beautiful lack of stiff neck or muscle pain. He stretched into his mattress and curled onto his side, blinking blearily at Keith’s bed, opposite of his. The sun created a crisp morning glow, streamed in through the thin, beige curtains and gently lay across the room. Keith had, at some point in the night, thrown his covers off of his chest, and the sun’s shine against his white shirt illuminated Keith’s features in a way which Lance was inclined to admire, pressing his lips together. 

After a few moments of self-indulgent staring, Lance tossed his own covers aside, getting up and padding across the room to where his beige tunic and brown leather pants lay strewn next to his things. He got dressed as quietly as he could manage, cringing as Keith huffed and rolled his head to the side, praying that the knight would just sleep in and rest. The quicker he healed, the quicker he could pick up a sword and spar with Lance. 

Lance descended the stairs in the inn and strode out the entrance, blinking into the sun. Where the inn had been empty, the streets were hustling and bustling in the same way they had been the other day. The early hour didn’t deter the merchants or the children, or even the woman two floors up across the street, who strung laundry on a wire and hummed a tune which reminded Lance of his grandmother. 

To his left and his right were trades of all kinds—silks in hues Lance had only otherwise seen in the gems he found at the bottom of Lake Alfor and instruments crafted with care from calloused hands which waved Lance over, urged him to simply take a look, just _one_. Lance stepped through the crowds carefully, only a bit overwhelmed, unable to take everything in at once. He certainly tried, though, as his head whipped in every direction. 

Two thick braids, red as the rubies heavy in Lance’s pockets, swung as a small girl trotted up to him, thrusting roses towards him and beaming. “Sir, would you buy a rose? I’ll give one to you for a cheap price, if you say yes!” 

Lance knelt down in front of her, the crowd parting around them and never slowing. He returned her smile and fished in his pockets for the few coins he had brought with him, in case anything caught his eye. “I’ll double that—no, I’ll triple it! Oh,” he added as an afterthought, “how much are they?” 

She named her price with a clap of her hands and a contagious grin, and Lance handed her the change and took the three roses, waving as she walked further into the markets with her roses clutched tightly to her side. Lance lifted his roses to his nose, breathing in their aroma, and relaxed his shoulders. The sun warmed the tip of his nose. 

“You do realize that you just got conned by a little girl.” 

Lance nearly jumped out of his skin, shrieking at an ungodly pitch as he whirled around to face Keith. Keith, surprisingly, wasn’t wearing his armor—he’d left the inn in his white shirt and black pants, with his sheath belt slung loosely around his hips and his hand on the hilt of his sword. 

“You can’t just sneak up on someone like that!” Lance exclaimed, a hand on his quick-beating heart. 

“Well _you_ ,” Keith jabbed a finger towards Lance accusingly, “can’t just leave like that.” 

Lance grinned slyly. “What, did you miss me?” 

Unexpectedly for both boys, Keith’s face reddened. He glanced away quickly, and Lance felt his own cheeks heat up. “ _No_ ,” Keith responded, a bit too forcefully to be convincing, and crossed his arms, “but you should tell me when you leave.” 

Lance guffawed, ignoring the implications of the light fluttering in his tummy. “Aye, aye, _sir,_ ” he teased, grinning delightedly as Keith glared at him half-heartedly. Lance glanced back at where the girl had disappeared into the crowd. “And I didn’t get _conned_ , she was just a little girl.” 

Keith rolled his eyes. “That’s naïve. Half of the best con artists in the kingdom are little kids. You could have payed half of what you did at any regular merchant’s stall.” 

“Well,” replied Lance sourly, “maybe I just wanted to support a blooming flower peddler. Is that so bad?”

Keith’s eyebrows drew together, not quite comprehending. “You would have supported her either way… You’re still paying her, you’re just not being ripped off.” 

“What… no, I’m saying- okay, no,” Lance waved whatever he was about to say off, “this conversation is going nowhere. How’s your leg?” 

“Good,” Keith replied automatically, glancing down at it and back to Lance. “We should be leaving, though. We _should_ be halfway to Earth by now, but at this rate it’s going to take us much longer than I thought it would.” 

“What’s the rush?” Lance shrugged, falling into step next to Keith as they made their way back to the inn. 

“I can’t be gone for too long,” responded Keith shortly. 

“Why not? You already took out those bandits, didn’t you?” Lance cracked a grin. “Surely you can take your time; the King won’t have you beheaded for poor punctuality.” 

Keith pressed his lips together and shook his head. “No. We need to move quicker than we have been.” 

Lance frowned, asking again, “Why?” 

Growing visibly frustrated, Keith glanced at him. “It’s confidential, okay?” 

Lance opened his mouth to retort, irritation igniting in his chest, but he abandoned what was sure to be an argument and simply huffed, crossing his arms. Keith’s secrecy wasn’t surprising, but Lance had been hoping the knight would have opened up to him by now, with everything they’d been through so far. But he’d experienced the brunt of Keith’s stubbornness before, and it was far too early for him to deal with any serious back and forth. 

“Alright, fine,” Lance mumbled, “I’ll go pack up and we can hit the road.” 

* * *

It took Lance far longer than it had taken Keith to pack his things up; Lance seemed to get distracted at every twist and turn, peeking out the window and losing half an hour to watching the crowds while fishing out the rocks in his pockets (how many he had stashed away, Keith had no clue, but Lance seemed to have an endless supply), tossing them from hand to hand. Every so often, Keith would urge him to  _hurry up already, we were supposed to be gone by now,_ to which Lance responded by sticking his tongue out, even flinging his pillow haphazardly towards where Keith sat with his arms crossed on the bed. It landed at his feet, and Keith kicked it around as he waited.

Lance had finished packing after what seemed like ages to Keith, but he was insistent on changing before they left. With his back to Keith, he shed his tunic and sat on the bed, turning a long-sleeved, beige shirt inside out. Keith watched the muscles on Lance’s back move, traced the contour of Lance’s wide shoulders, lingering at the nape of his neck. His eyes trailed down Lance’s sides, slowly, curving at his hips and- _okay, that’s enough,_ Keith thought, swallowing. He averted his gaze to the wall to his right, albeit reluctantly, staring intently at himself in the mirror as Lance finished getting dressed. 

As odd as it may be, Keith didn’t have a mirror back in the barracks at the castle, and he never carried one with him when he travelled. The last time he had a proper look at himself must have been a month ago, possibly two. He lifted a hand and pulled at a lock of his hair—jet-black, a hue which brought out the flecks of purple in his otherwise dark eyes. He’d never seen the color in other peoples’ eyes. Once, he had voiced this to Shiro, who hadn’t seemed to think much of it. “People all look different,” he’d said with a smile, “and different is okay.” 

Despite it being such a unique characteristic, the one thing that kept Keith from really feeling badly about looking different was the thought that, if his eyes were so oddly colored, one of his parents must have also looked this way. Keith’s chest tightened, and he closed his eyes on the image of himself in the mirror. He’d met his parents before, but he couldn’t seem to remember their faces. His only memories were fleeting, of his mother leaning over him in the morning and his father chopping wood outside of their cottage. They’d lived outside of Earth, just a few kilometers, before an incident which had weighed on Keith for years.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell. Keith shoved the memory back from the forefront of his thoughts, opening his eyes and glancing at Lance, who was tugging on his shoes. He needed to focus. Getting Lance back to Earth was the first and only priority. Everything else came second. 

* * *

Once Lance finished, they made their way towards the city gates. Admittedly, when they found Red a few meters away chewing absent-mindedly on a strawberry bush, Lance was astounded. She looked up and spotted them, trotting happily towards them with a leaves hanging out the left side of her mouth. Lance had never seen an animal so devoted to its owner; he’d thought Keith and his horse were connected before, but now it seemed to Lance like they were more bonded than anything.

Keith had looked at a map in the inn and found a small village about a half a day’s travel away, as Lance had requested the night before, but insisted on traveling through the night and camping out the next day. But Lance had seen the slowness with which Keith went up and down the stairs in the inn, had noted the care Keith had taken when climbing onto Red, and adamantly rejected the idea. They argued in front of the city gates, atop Red, ignoring the stares and frowns thrown their way as voices rose, but Lance came out on top by the end. They would travel to the small village and rest for the night before continuing on and camping the rest of the trip. The apothecary had insisted on a few nights of sleep in an inn, and Lance would be damned if Keith’s leg injury grew any worse.

Keith sat in front of Lance, again, less because of his leg and more because Lance towered over them on Red’s back. Lance’s torso was long, and he was lean altogether—Keith would be staring at Lance’s back if Lance took the front. As he settled behind Keith, trying not to move too much as to relive what had happened the other day, his stomach fluttered again, and he placed his hand on his tummy. He couldn’t be hungry, he’d eaten nearly an hour beforehand. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem like too much of an issue, so Lance pushed the worry aside. His mind lingered on his traveling companion, next. 

He didn’t know much about Keith, really. Lance knew a total of four things about him: one, Keith was one of the High King’s knights; two, he had been clearing bandits near Balmera; three, he was practically a master swordsman; four, he was particularly pressed to return to Earth as quickly as possible. In Balmera, nobody was a stranger. Everyone knew everything about each other, which, he’d admit, had its perks and also its downfalls. Even without having met someone, you could feel as if you knew what they were like, what kind of person they were. Lance wasn’t used to knowing as little about someone as what Keith had been telling him. Maybe it was time for that to change. 

“So,” he began conversationally, “were you born in Earth?”

It took Keith a moment to respond. “No, I wasn’t.”  
  
Lance waited for him to elaborate, and when Keith failed to do so, Lance pushed on. “Then where were you born?”

“Does it matter?” Keith responded, guarded, and Lance frowned. He wouldn’t be deterred so easily, however. 

“Well, what about your family? I told you about my cheerful family history, so what’s your story?” 

Keith’s posture had gone stiff, and Lance could tell that he was clenching and unclenching his jaw. “Do you always ask about every personal detail about someone?” 

Stricken by Keith’s cold tone, Lance retorted, “Seriously, what’s up with you? I’m not the weird one for wanting to know at least a little bit about you. Or do you always travel with someone without getting to know them?” 

Keith threw a glare back at him, but Lance barreled on, unshakable. “No, really, I don’t get you. You all but begged me to travel with you, yet you’re the worst conversationalist in the world. Did you expect me to just shut up and go along with not knowing anything about you? Because that’s not going to happen. All I’m asking is for just a little bit of information about where you come from. If that’s not okay with you, you can just drop me off here-“

“I don’t _have_ any family, okay?” Keith bit, his grip on Red’s reins impossibly tight. His tone is gold and final. “Drop it.” 

Lance, stricken silent, gaped. The remainder of the ride was spent in silence thick with palpable tension. Each time Lance grappled for a way to tentatively break the quiet, he came up short, any consolation dying on his tongue. 

They reached the village with the sun hanging low on the horizon. Lance watched in awe as lightning bugs scattered each time Red’s foot stepped too close to the grass. 

Keith hadn’t spoken to him for hours—he’d barely even looked at Lance twice. Lance felt suffocated by the silence. The adamance with which he’d demanded answers was gone, replaced by a hesitant urge to reach out to Keith, to hear him snicker and to see him grin. Lance recalled the way Keith had snapped and winced. 

They dismounted Red outside of the small inn in the center of the village. Lance followed a few steps behind Keith as they entered, glancing around curiously. This inn was much smaller than the one in Altea, and was subsequently much less populated. A barmaid chatted with the innkeeper near the bar, two men sat near the door and boisterously shared a toast to life, and a couple shared a moment in a quiet corner of the room. The ambiance was warm, and Lance breathed out softly, a small smile on his lips, drinking in the small village atmosphere.

Keith approached the innkeeper and purchased a room while Lance observed the inn, and nodded at the stairs as an indication for Lance to follow as he passed him by. 

The room was quaint, and much smaller than the room in Altea had been. The windows lacked curtains and the blankets were thick quilt, probably made locally. Unlike the inn in Altea, there was nothing on the nightstands except for a lamp on Lance’s. Keith sat on the bed closer to the door, placing his pack on the blanket and removing his sheath belt. 

Lance swallowed. “Keith, I…” Keith’s hands stopped moving on the clasp of his belt, and Lance urged himself to just _speak_. “I’m sorry. For asking. You’re right, I shouldn’t have asked, I…” He sat on the bed opposite Keith, eyes trained on his feet. “Sorry.” 

The silence which followed nearly suffocated Lance, and, thinking that Keith wasn’t going to respond, he reached down to unbuckle his boots. As his fingers touched the cold metal clasp, Keith finally spoke. 

“Don’t,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly, and when Lance lifted his head, Keith had stood, and was grabbing for his sword. “Come on.” 

Keith strode out of the room, and Lance scrambled after him. Lance followed Keith outside and behind the inn. A patch of grass fit snugly between the inn and the edge of the thick forest, and Keith led him directly into the middle. He faced Lance and tossed something towards him. 

Had Lance not been on edge enough to move quickly, the item would have struck him directly in the chest, but his fingers clasped around a cool hilt. He nearly dropped the dagger, glancing confoundedly between Keith and the weapon. His fingers shook slightly against the leather of the hilt. 

“Do as I do,” commanded Keith. He swung his own sword slowly, elaborately, his steps careful and timed. Had Keith not been gripping a blade, it would have looked as if he were dancing. 

It took Lance a moment, but once his wits returned to him, he stripped the dagger of its sheath and mimicked Keith’s movements. The only sounds were Lance’s huffs as he tried to perfectly copy Keith and the sound of the crickets in the thicket chirping. Keith stopped moving once Lance got the hang of the routine, dropping to the ground and watching Lance’s every swing carefully. “Keep your balance,” Keith advised, “pretend you’re fighting somebody, try blocking and parrying.” Lance payed mind to Keith’s cues, adjusting his movements. 

“Don’t apologize,” Keith spoke after what felt to Lance like an hour of torturous silence, “you were right. I asked you to come with me, so it’s not fair to expect you not to ask things. I… shouldn’t have gotten so angry with you.” Keith’s eyes met Lance’s. “Sorry.” 

“Oh,” Lance blinked, completely thrown, “it’s- uh, yeah, no sweat.” 

Keith finally smiled, huffing a chuckle. They fell into comfortable silence for the first time in hours, and Lance was grateful for the lack of tension. Keith sat back, his hands spread wide on the grass behind him. He tipped his chin to look at the darkening sky. “When I was 12, Galran mercenaries killed my parents, and would have killed me,” Keith spoke softly, and Lance slowed mid-swing, “but I… ran away.” 

Lance blanched, but kept silent. 

“That’s why I got mad,” Keith explained. He pushed forward, his shoulders hunched slightly, and Lance took a seat beside him on the grass. “I guess it’s just been a long time since someone’s asked me about them.” 

Keith’s voice was gentler than Lance had ever heard it before, and his eyes seemed to be scanning the sky for something. They sat quietly for a while before Lance noticed Keith’s eyebrows furrowing, his relaxed expression growing tense and pained. Silence yielded time to dwell on negative thoughts, it seemed. Lance lifted an arm and rested it across Keith’s shoulders, ignoring Keith’s flinch of surprise, unable to give any comment which could do service to what Keith had told him and relying on physical contact to properly provide comfort. Keith glanced up at him, eyes wide, and for the first time Lance noticed his eyes weren’t just _dark_. They were a vast darkness, with hints of purple and grey and Lance felt as if an entire universe had somehow fit into Keith’s irises. 

Lance wasn’t sure how long he stared into Keith’s eyes before realizing the intimacy of the situation. Lance had always been a man of impromptu action—he lifted his hand from Keith’s shoulder and slowly, tentatively, tangled it in Keith’s hair, watching as Keith’s eyes grew a fraction wider. 

And suddenly, they were _close_. The tip of Lance’s nose lightly touched Keith’s cheek, and his fingertips brushed across the nape of Keith’s neck, lingering. The moment seemed to hang in the air, Keith’s eyes searching his, fluttering closed as Lance took a deep, hitching breath. He pressed forward, his own eyes falling closed, and the warmth breath ghosting against his lips vanished. Lance’s eyes snapped open; Keith head leaned away, had a hand covering his mouth. His eyes were averted, cast down and aside, and Lance’s mouth opened and closed before he could say anything. Had he misread the situation? Projected something onto Keith which had never been there in the first place? 

“Keith, I…” Lance’s words fell short, and Keith stood, abrupt. 

“We can’t—I can’t—“ Keith stammered out, “I’m not—“ 

“Whoa, whoa, Keith,” Lance held his hands out, clambering to his feet, “relax. What’s wrong?” 

Keith shook his head, refusing to meet Lance’s eyes. “Nothing—I’m going to bed, I.. see you in the morning. Keep practicing.” He turned sharply and strode back towards the inn, leaving Lance behind, gaping. Lance lifted the dagger again, swung it a few times, and dropped it back into grass, irate. 

“Damn it, Lance,” he admonished, rubbing a hand over his eyes and making his way back into the inn. 

* * *

Keith slammed the door shut behind him, making a beeline for his bed and flopping down face-first. He resisted the urge to yell.

He’d seen it coming, of course he had, from the moment Lance’s hands had folded into his hair down to the electricity in Lance’s stare, he’d seen it. And what had he done? He’d leaned into the touch, breathed in time with Lance, closed his eyes so _trustingly_. 

He couldn’t afford to get attached to Lance, not in that way. Lance was his charge, and his _unknowing_ charge at that. He couldn’t—he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. He lifted his head, and he noticed a glass of water on the edge of his nightstand. Keith sat up and lifted the glass to his lips, taking a slow, long gulp of water, wanting to wash away the thickness in his throat. 

Keith wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and, deciding it would be best to be asleep before Lance came back upstairs, stood to change his clothes. As he stood, the room spun and whirled. A low thud reached Keith’s ears, and when he glanced down, he was on his knees, his breathing growing more and more erratic. In his haze, Keith was at least able to deduce the cause of his current state—he threw his hand out with the last of what he had in him, knocking the glass to the ground and hearing, as if from a great distance, it shatter. His vision turned sideways and blackened out as his head hit the wood panelling.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi fam!!!! im sorry this took so long!! I just started college so its been a bit hectic, but I do intend to finish this story, so don't fret if you're following it. :) thank y'all so much for the comments, they always make me so happy, i love them and u so much thank u fam ily <3 so here it is! a little short, but the next one will be longer :) thank u for the support and nice words friends!!!

Keith’s head pounded, his temple cool on the floor, and after blinking blearily he hauled himself into a sitting position with his back pressed firmly against the bed. He ached, his shoulder and his thigh and his _head--_ god, his head. He tried to sort out what had happened the night before, thinking over the events as clearly as he could through the haze. He’d tossed Lance a dagger, sat shoulder to shoulder with him and shared his breath before retreating back upstairs. But after that, everything became distant, as if Keith was searching through a fogged up window. 

Downstairs, a glass hit the floor with a shriek, and Keith’s eyes snapped wide open and he whipped his head sideways, gritting his teeth at the pangs that followed. Next to his bedside, glass lay scattered across the floor, and as he scanned the jagged, broken pieces, the shatter from downstairs rang in his ears. He’d drank the water in the glass, and had almost immediately reacted to whatever drug he’d been slipped. _Careless_ , he berated himself, _since when were you always so careless_? 

Keith scanned the room, struggling to push himself up using the bed as support. His vision swam and tilted, and he sat on the bed with a huff as it settled and focused on what was a hopelessly empty room. Lance’s things were untouched in the corner, and Keith was alone. With a low growl, Keith shoved off of the bed and staggered towards the door, walking becoming no easier as he approached the stairs and haphazardly stumbled down them. He approached the barkeep’s counter, passing by a barmaid sweeping glass off of the floor, and slammed his hands onto the counter, to steady himself more than anything. It got the man’s attention, however--he glanced over at Keith in surprise, then gestured to the barrel behind the counter. “Never too early for some, eh? What can I get you?” 

Keith ignored him in favor of blurting, “I came here with a friend. Did you see him leave last night?” 

The barkeep glanced to the side thoughtfully before lighting up, nodding. “Oh, that young lad. Nice kid, that one. He came in for a drink last night and left with those two fellas at that table over there.” Keith vaguely remembered them, burly men with raised drinks and boisterous laughs. 

The barkeep’s cheery disposition weighed on Keith, and Keith tried to focus on breathing properly. “Do you know where they went?” 

“Sorry, can’t tell you that one. They just left together, all’s I know.” 

Keith nodded, tossing a low thank you to the barkeep before turning, slowly as to not completely lose his footing, and unsteadily jogged out of the inn. He turned to where Red was idly chewing on the grass, and called out to her. “We’re leaving! Lance is _gone_ , it happened again, I-” he grunted, hopelessly vexed. From the corner of his eye, two men staggered out of a house a few buildings down. Keith was moving before he realized it. 

His hand entangled itself in the smaller man’s shirt, shoving him back against the wall of the house. “Where is he?” he snarled. “You left with him last night. Where is Lance?” 

Eyes blown wide, the man sputtered. “Whuh- oi, get your hands off me! What are you _talking_ about?” 

Keith’s patience was taut, and he shoved the man back into the wall a second time. “ _My friend_ , you left with him and now he’s gone. Where?” 

Practically blinded by his panic, Keith didn’t notice the other man until an arm wrapped around his waist and lifted him off the ground, pulling him back and away from the man he had pinned against the house. He tossed Keith off the porch, and it was a miracle that Keith managed to stay on his two feet. The world had stopped spinning, but his legs were still figuring out how to communicate with his brain properly. “Calm down, kid.” The second man rumbled, and Keith bristled. “We left with your friend to go show him some fighting tips--he seemed real excited to learn. That couple that was inside came out and said they recognized him--knew his ma or something. He left with them, and we went home.” 

Keith hung on every word, his mind working furiously. The couple in the corner, speaking in low tones and casting glances their way... of course, it couldn’t be so obvious as _these_ two lugs. Crafty enough to slip a drugged drink into their room and somehow lure Lance away from the inn far enough as to retain anonymity--enough for Keith to be running around the town in a desperate search. 

Releasing the man’s shirt and spinning on his heel, Keith strode towards Red with purpose. He’d ask around, look for clues, scout the perimeter... _something_. Keith tapped Red’s side as he reached her, and her head swung around to blink at him. She was chewing something orange, something loud and grating on Keith’s tense nerves. Rather than inquire what she had found, Keith poised himself to jump up onto her back, but a cough had him whirling around, back against Red’s side. 

In front of him, a girl, thin with green eyes and circular glasses, slouched against a fence, eyebrow raised. “You do know that horses can develop colic as a result of being ridden before they’re done chewing, right?” she shrugged, pushing off of the fence and stroking Red’s mane. “Just a tidbit.” 

* * *

 

In the mornings, Lance kept to a very strict routine. He’d wake up, groggy, and allow his senses to wake up with him, first his ears would wiggle then his fingers would search around the sheets, reaching until Lance was stretched out on the mattress. Then he’d breathe in, deep and full, and exhale just as slowly before opening his eyes. 

This morning, the first sensation Lance became aware of was a pounding in his skull. He tried to work through his routine, his ears twitching as two men murmured somewhere in the room. Fear settled into his stomach, heavy and cold, as he remembered where he was. He’d gone with the woman and the man after they’d said they knew Teresa McClain. 

Now, Lance wasn’t _stupid_. Although Keith somehow managed to become the exception to this rule, Lance made a point to never accompany strangers unless he absolutely, positively had no other option. But they _knew_ her--by _name_! Knew she’d had a son, knew her son was, according to anyone who had seen her, a spitting image of her own visage, knew how she had _died_. Unable to let such a pivotal lead in his mission to learn more about his mother, Lance had gone with them, and everything after that was dark. They’d knocked him out, most likely, and brought him back somewhere. Lance was too tense to open his eyes, just yet.

He wiggled his fingers, wincing as the rope securing his hands behind his back rubbed against his wrists. He’d never slept with his hands behind his back like that--it was awful. His shoulders ached, and there were multiple kinks in his neck giving him trouble. He shifted on the bed ever so slightly, careful as to not draw attention from the men murmuring across the room, and felt his dagger beneath his hip. They hadn’t taken it from him, thank god. That in itself was a bit fishy, but he’d worry about that later. 

Lance breathed in and out, deep and slow, for a minute before opening his eyes, first just a crack, then wide open. He was in a bedroom, lying facing the two men at the window. Bright, early morning sun shone in through the window, and Lance had to squint to keep clear view of the two standing men. Lance couldn’t hear them well, held his breath to hear better. 

“When are her men going to show, again?” One man asked, tapping his fingers against his forearm. 

The other, a leaner man with brown hair and a smile, gentle around the edges, shrugged. “Another hour, at most, I think. Why? Getting impatient? Have something to do?” 

The first man leaned against the wall with a grunt. “Shut up, Matt, I just don’t wanna wait around here all day. I want to get back to the guild and nap.” 

Matt guffawed. The warmth in his laugh starkly contrasted Lance’s bated breath. “You always want to nap. Being awake for more than a few hours at a time is good for you, my friend.” 

“Shut _up_ , Matt,” replied the other with little heat. 

The two men settled into a companionable silence and, once it was clear that Lance would gain nothing more by feigning sleep, he groaned, rolling over on the bed and making low, pained noises. The two men strode over to the bed, leaning over Lance as he peered up at them through half-open eyes. The one on the right, the larger one, looked a bit familiar, but Lance couldn’t quite put his finger on where he’d seen him before. 

“Did you hit him that hard?” Matt asked, frowning. “You were supposed to be _gentle_.” 

“I _didn’t_ ,” the other retorted, “and I’m always gentle.” 

“A head wound is a head wound, I suppose,” Matt responded lightly. He sat on the bed beside Lance. “Lance? How are you feeling?” 

“Like shit,” Lance bit back, “where am I? Who are you?” 

“I’m Matt,” he gestured to himself, then to the other man. “This is Rolo.” Rolo gave a wave. “Right now we’re about a day’s ride out from the village you were in before, give or take.” 

“Why am I here?” Lance pressed. 

Matt’s lips curved upwards. “A wealthy patron paid an inane amount of coin to bring you back to Earth. But,” Matt shrugged, leaning back on his palms. The bed sank under the weight of his hands, splayed out on the covers. “I understand why. That was tricky business you were involved in, my friend.” 

Lance’s eyes narrowed. Matt seemed credible, but this was still all very odd, and made very little sense to Lance. “What are you talking about?” 

Matt inspected him for a moment, and Lance could see his mind working, could see him collecting thoughts and observations and organizing them carefully during the momentary silence. “I figured you didn’t know,” he sighed, “I couldn’t imagine why you’d travel with him if you did.”

“What,” asked Lance again, slow and tense, “are you _talking_ about?”

“Lance,” Matt sat forward, staring into Lance’s eyes with a seriousness, a sympathy, that Lance wasn’t used to, “the man you were traveling with--Keith, wasn’t it? He was going to travel with you to the edge of the kingdom and hand you over to those Galran dogs.” He spit the last few words as if disgusted that they were on his tongue at all. 

Lance was silent for a moment before beginning to shake, ever so slightly. “You’re wrong,” he shook his head against the mattress, “he wouldn’t. I don’t trust you.”

"Why would he lie to you, kiddo?” Rolo shrugged. “It’s hard to swallow, but it’s the truth.” 

“No,” Lance responded, firmer, “he wouldn’t. He’s a knight of the High King’s guard. A stunt like that wouldn’t go unnoticed.” If they thought they could fool him, they had another thing coming. 

Matt glanced away, frowning. “That confused me, too, to be honest. His mission to get to you and take you to the Galra isn’t written anywhere, none of my contacts in the castle could find any record of Keith being sent off for anything. He left on his own prerogative, found you, and was on the way to receiving either a hefty reward or losing his life on the spot once he turned you over to them.” 

“This is wrong,” Lance shook his head, faster, “why me? I’m a nobody from Balmera, I hold no value, I-” 

“No value?” Matt exclaimed, incredulous. “You must be joking. The king’s son holds more value than anyone else in the kingdom.” Matt blinked, and added as an afterthought, “Well, after the king himself, that is.” 

Lance gaped. “What?” 

“Right, I forgot, you don’t know,” Matt winced. “We weren’t supposed to tell you. We weren’t even supposed to know, really. Don’t tell my sister when she gets here that I told you.” Matt winked. 

Lance shook his head, sitting up and shoving himself back against the headboard. “ _What_ did you just say?” 

Matt turned to face him, his hands clasped together in front of him. His expression was calm and his voice was soothing but Lance could barely hear him over the blood rushing in his ears. “Lance, you’re the crown prince of the kingdom, and your true home is inside the castle of Earth.” He spread his hands wide, smiling. “You’re royalty. Congratulations.” 

“No,” Lance replied, “no, I’m-I’m from Balmera, I’ve lived there my whole life, I-” 

Matt shook his head, his smile turning consoling. “I know it’s hard to take in, right now. You’re free to move about the room, but the door will be locked from the outside, just in case. You’re our charge, after all. Can’t afford to lose you.” Matt nodded at Rolo. “Remove his binds, would you?” 

“Aye, aye,” Rolo stepped forward and cut through the rope. Lance pulled his hands from behind his back, rubbing at his wrists, dazed. Matt and Rolo left the room, and Lance heard the click of the lock. He glanced at the window and, overwhelmed by confusion and shock and hurt and hope, he climbed beneath the covers and buried his head in his pillow. His breath shook until his consciousness faded. 


End file.
